


Steve Rogers, Uncensored

by PottersPink, SoftObsidian74



Series: Steve Rogers, Uncensored [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Sam Wilson, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, End Game Stucky, Epistolary, Fanboys - Freeform, Fertility Issues, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity (not Steve or Bucky), M/M, Mixed Media, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Peggy Carter/Edwin Jarvis, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Racism, Rebecca Is A Good Bro, Reunions, Sex, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, The Avengers Are Good Bros, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Writer Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 78,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27119458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PottersPink/pseuds/PottersPink, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: Bucky Barnes is not living his best life; he’s stuck in a career he doesn’t like and his boyfriend is obsessed with an obscure superhero. No one has seen or heard from Steve Rogers in over four years, but that hasn’t stopped Bucky’s boyfriend from organizing a Steve Rogers fan club or hosting a weekly podcast focused on the life and times of the former Avenger. When shocking outtakes of Steve’s old PSAs surface, it starts a chain reaction that leads to unexpected revelations and a life-changing encounter with the elusive superhero himself.Written for the 2020 ‘Not Another Stucky’ Big Bang, this story was inspired by the novel “Juliet, Naked” written by Nick Hornby.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Male Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Steve Rogers, Uncensored [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020706
Comments: 455
Kudos: 379
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. Comfortably Numb

**Author's Note:**

> PottersPink: I had such a wonderful time working with Sony. I knew from the moment I read the slide that this was the fic that I needed to illustrate. Every chapter was such a joy to read, and I cannot wait to share our hard work with everyone! 
> 
> NASBB mods, thank you so much for everything you've done this year to make this fest what it is. 
> 
>   
> SoftObsidian74: First and foremost, I’d like to thank my collaborator, PottersPink, who has been a true collaborator every step of the way from inspiring me with her amazing PSA scripts, awesome dividers, and fantastic art to her great feedback and suggestions on my writing throughout the development of this story. Gab, not only did your art inspire me but also your positive energy and enthusiasm. I have no doubt that I couldn't have finished this without you. Thank you too for all of the emotional support. It made a very difficult time so much easier. I'm so grateful for everything you offered.<3
> 
> -A special thank you to my Alpha reader CoraRochester for being so thorough, prompt, supportive, affirming throughout the development of this story. You really motivated me to continue writing. Also, a big thank you to my Beta reader, Bittersweet_in_Boston for being so supportive and the helpful feedback about writing, the DC area, and Hornby's source material.
> 
> -Thank you Chaosmanor & SassyGremlin for your medical expertise and Nika for her feedback on the original outline. 
> 
> -To the Mods of the NASBB -thank you so much for all of your hard work and care. You created such a great environment with lots of encouragement, fun activities, supportive resources, helpful sprints, and just all-around positive vibes.  
> 
> 
> Finally, I'd like to dedicate this fic to my younger brother Chris who died of Covid in July. Even though he didn't understand my fascination with Captain America, he was always supportive and encouraged me to keep writing. Working on this story helped me get through one of the darkest periods in my life. It also gave me a new community of really nice people that offered support, a shoulder to cry on, and fun distraction from the craziness of 2020. I doubt my brother would've ever read this, but I'd like to think he's somewhere smiling 'cause I finished another one.<3
> 
>   
>    
> 

Anthony Daniels doesn’t sound quite human, and he’s not supposed to, but there’s just enough humanity in his stilted, robotic voice to transport Bucky to another world. When Bucky is there, C-3PO is a close friend, and Star Wars isn’t a franchise, it’s a real-world conflict. It’s easy to lose time there.

But not today. Ten minutes into Bucky’s commute home, Daniels’ narration ends, and just like that Bucky is yanked out of a galaxy far, far away and right back onto the northbound lane of the I-66 highway. He blinks at the stereo, waiting, but the audiobook is over.

Bucky sighs at the 0 on his speedometer. I-66 looks like a parking lot and there’s a sea of red brake lights glaring back at him.

“Shit,” he mutters.

The grey steeple of All Souls Church peeks over the interstate sign ahead. Only a few miles of highway stand between Bucky and his apartment. Theoretically, he’s only 15, maybe 20 minutes away, from kicking his shoes off and cracking open an ice-cold beer. But this is rush hour traffic in the nation’s capital. Gridlock in DC’s is the absolute worst. It will be at least 40 minutes until he gets home.

Bucky hisses as a sharp wave of pain shoots down his left arm. Massaging the scarred skin of his tricep eases some of the discomfort, but not all of it. He needs to relax. There’s no point in getting worked up. He does a slow neck roll, focusing on his breath. Once Bucky accepts that he will not be moving anytime soon, he pulls his cell phone out of his messenger bag and mounts it on the dash. He briefly considers calling Becca to pass the time but remembers she’s probably getting ready for her date with that guy (Andrew? Alex?) from EHarmony.

So instead Bucky begins to fiddle with the stereo dials on his steering wheel, flipping through radio channels.

An overplayed pop song. Ugh. Classic rock. Eh, not feeling _that_ one. Country. The twang is grating right now. Classical. Too soothing, it reminds Bucky of the bed he can’t get to. Hip-hop. Too hype for Bucky’s surly mood. The news. Depressing. Comedy. This guy isn’t funny. Life insurance commercial.

Ugh.

“Good evening, Steve Rogers’ Nation!”

Bucky freezes as the voice of his boyfriend filters through the speakers.

“This is your host Dr. Rob.”

“Oh my god,” Bucky whispers as the shock wears off and dawning horror takes its place. The self-appointed title was cute when Rob was an obscure fanboy with a podcast audience of 10-25 listeners at the most. But this is Sirius freakin' FM radio; thousands of people from around the country are listening. Bucky cringes.

“Can we talk, guys? I am _so_ sick of these tin foil hat conspiracy nuts. They have the nerve to slander the name of _the_ greatest hero of all time. And I for one, refuse to let these-”

Bucky jams his thumb into the stereo dial a little too hard. A dumb repetitive pop song fills the car. The song sucks, but Bucky turns up the volume, hoping the bass will drown out the persistent nagging doubts about his life choices right now.

Forty-five minutes later he squeezes Dot, his red 2012 Prius, into a tight parking spot next to the local diner. It’s only two blocks away from the apartment he shares with Rob. Bucky’s enthusiasm about going home has waned considerably since learning his boyfriend’s obsession is now nationally syndicated, so he decides to get something to eat instead.

 _Vegz_ is surprisingly empty, which is a miracle. The food is really great.

Inside, a frail-looking old man with a Nationals baseball cap sits in the back, reading one of those trashy tabloids. _Captain America vs. Captain of the NYPD_ is splashed underneath an unflattering picture of the _real_ Captain America, Sam Wilson, arguing with a stodgy police officer. Bucky's opinion of the old man reading immediately plummets.

On the other side of the diner, a young couple sits across from each other, staring down at their phones like they are perfect strangers.

Bucky pulls off his messenger bag, stretches his left arm as discreetly as possible, and takes a seat in a booth near the window. He fishes out his writing pad and a black ballpoint pen. Rob usually makes fun of him for being old-fashioned, but old habits die hard. Bucky takes a pen and pad everywhere he goes. Writing longhand is almost meditative and it helps him think.

The tension in his shoulders melt as he starts outlining, and he completely forgets about food.

“Good evening, Mr. Writer.”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to the waitress placing a fresh glass of ice-cold water in front of him.

She’s pretty, smiling down at him with her smart nose and high cheekbones. Not for the first time, Bucky wonders how much sharper her features would be if she weren’t pregnant. She looks about six months along, but Becca always tells Bucky he’s shit at guessing that sort of thing and he doesn’t dare ask. Tonight her blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail a little higher than Bucky’s. As always, her whisky-colored eyes are full of wisdom beyond her years and a little mischief.

This isn’t the first time she’s waited on Bucky. There’s an easy familiarity between them now. Bucky has never paid attention to the small golden nametag on her chest, but since she gave him a nickname it seems necessary to take notice of her name now.

“Thanks, _Christine_ ,” he says with an easy smile. “You can call me Bucky.”

Her eyes light up. “Now there’s a name you don’t hear every day. Nice to officially make your acquaintance, _Bucky_. Do you need a menu or ---”

“Nope,” Bucky replies quickly. “I’d like a _Vegz_ burger with fries, please.”

She nods. “Parmesan fries?”

“You know it,” Bucky grins.

Christine winks. “Got it. Be right back.”

Bucky flexes his wrist and thinks about the direction he wants to take this particular story. As always, his imagination steers him away from the original plan.

It feels like it’s only been five minutes when Christine’s shadow falls over him again.

“So whatcha writing now?”

“Still a secret,” Bucky says with a smirk.

Christine hums as she sets his plate down. “You're never gonna tell me, are you?”

Bucky smirks. “Probably not.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever it is, it must be good. Not even the smell of your burger made you look up.”

Christine isn’t very subtle as she tries to peer down to catch a glimpse. Bucky chuckles and closes his notebook.

“Well, it has my full attention now.”

“You’re not even gonna give me a clue?” Christine says with a fake pout and exaggerated bat of her eyes. “Thought we were friends.”

Bucky raises one eyebrow. “Oh, we’re friends now?”

“Honey, I’ve waited on you four times in two weeks _and_ we’re on a first-name basis now. We’re friends.”

Bucky huffs out a chuckle. “OK… I can tell you it’s a short story.”

Christine opens her mouth but Bucky anticipates her next question.

“I don’t know what it’s about yet. I’m still brainstorming. Getting close to something but not sure what.”

“So not a secret, more like a question,” she says with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Bucky gives a one arm shrug. “Tell you what, as soon as I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

Christine eyes widen in surprise even as she smiles. “Really? I’m gonna hold you to that, friend.”

“OK, _pal_ ,” Bucky says, shaking his head.

The triumphant little shimmy Christine does in response makes Bucky think she’d be fun to hang around.

“Alright, well, let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says.

Christine makes her way over to the table with the old guy reading the tabloid, like the weight in her belly is pulling on her balance.

“Ugh, why are you reading that crap, Doug?” she asks as she picks up the man's plate.

Bucky tries not to look like a creep as he listens in, but he is curious about the guy’s answer.

“It’s not crap, Christy. It’s the truth. That damn _Washington Post_ you kids read is too scared to talk about what’s really going on. Ever since that boy became Captain America he’s been nothing but trouble. Caused more problems than he’s solved.”

Christine sighs. “Now you know I don’t tolerate talk like that. Wilson is not a _boy_. He's a grown man. A U.S. veteran, by the way. And you shouldn’t believe everything you read. I think he’s doing a fine job.”

The old guy, Doug, scoffs. “Well, he’s no Steve Rogers.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. This conversation sounds too familiar. Rob would love this guy.

“Steve Rogers gave Wilson his shield, who are we to question it? ” Christine admonishes. Bucky has to restrain himself from doing a fist pump. “Now do you want dessert or just the check?”

Doug grunts. “Apple cobbler please.”

Bucky watches as Christine waddles her way back to the kitchen and an idea strikes him. He stuffs a few fries into his mouth, wipes his hands, and opens his notebook again.

Bucky leaves Christine a 30% tip for allowing him to stay and write for over an hour after he’d finished his food and for putting up with Doug’s continued ranting about Sam Wilson.

By the time Bucky leaves the diner the moon is sitting above the trees. He isn’t prepared for the way air slices through his thin peacoat as he makes a brisk walk to his apartment.

Once he arrives, he swipes his electronic key fob to enter the lobby, then checks his mail and makes his way to the elevators, and looks around. This building is elegant if not a bit ostentatious. It looks more like a luxury hotel than an apartment building, but the lobby is always empty. It kind of gives Bucky the creeps. If Bucky didn’t live so far up, he’d probably take the stairs.

The elevator arrives and Bucky hits the number 9 before combing through his mail. It’s mostly junk. By the time he skips his key in his front door, Bucky’s practically vibrating out of his skin to drop his messenger bag and take off his shoes.

It’s completely dark inside. Apparently, Rob’s podcast was pre-recorded because the apartment is silent. Bucky lets the door close behind him and just stands in the dark for a moment, relishing the peace.

Eight hours of combing through drafts of health care jargon chock full of grammatical errors have left Bucky completely drained. The beer can wait. His pillow and fluffy duvet are calling. He makes quick strides to the bedroom where he undresses hastily before shutting off the light.

He’s beginning to drift into sleep when he hears the front door open and shut.

Bucky yawns and rolls over, listening in the dark as Rob rummages through the refrigerator and silverware. He retrieves his phone from the nightstand. It’s almost 11pm. No calls. One text from Becca.

Bucky places his cell back on the nightstand as the sound of lazy feet shuffling approaches the door. He finds himself smiling a little. It’s been too long since he’s seen his boyfriend. Their crazy schedules make it hard to find time to really spend time together. It’d be nice to catch up on what’s going on at work and gossip about their friends, something other than Steve Rogers.

The footsteps stop, and Bucky frowns, staring at the door. There’s a tense moment of silence of Bucky holding his breath, waiting for Rob to open the door. Then there’s more shuffling, this time away from the door. Bucky hears the creak of the door opening across the hall and the soft click when it shuts.

Something inside of Bucky deflates and he sinks beneath the duvet again, telling himself not to be a drama queen because Rob didn’t even peek in to speak.

He gets about a good hour of sleep before Rob’s excited voice startles him back to consciousness. The walls aren’t exactly thin and whenever Rob is in his ‘man cave’ doing a podcast his voice climbs at least two octaves.

“Good evening, Steve Rogers’ Nation! I’d like to welcome back my fellow Commandos as well as any new listeners tuning in. Tonight, we have an exciting guest - the one and only Casey Fletcher. As many of you know, Casey is a legend in the Steve Rogers’ fandom. She served as an intern at the 2014 Captain America Smithsonian exhibit. That means she got to touch and even set up some of Steve Rogers’ most personal effects. Casey, hey… Casey? Can you hear us? Google Chat can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Oh, there you go. Hello! We’re thrilled to have you! How have you been?..... That’s awesome. We know you’re very busy so we really appreciate you making time to be here tonight. So let’s get right into it!

“The first question all of our Commandos out there are dying to know is - did the Smithsonian exhibit hold anything back? Rumor has it they didn’t put out everything and some of Captain Rogers’ belongings never saw the light of day.”

Bucky rolls his eyes hard as he pulls the pillow over his head. Unfortunately, it doesn’t muffle much. Rob's pitch is extra high tonight, and he’s especially talkative which is really saying something. Sleep suddenly seems like a cruel broken promise. Bucky huffs and gets out of bed, his pillow and the duvet in tow. At least the living room is further away from the sound of Rob’s voice.

Bucky wakes up to the smell and sizzle of bacon and Steve Rogers’ deep voice. It’s a great voice. Bucky would enjoy it a lot more he hadn’t heard this particular speech a million times.

_“Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank, but there's still a way all of us can fight.”_

It’s one of Rob’s favorite recordings of Rogers and Bucky knows it by heart just from second-hand listening.

“Is that bacon?” he says as he slowly sits up.

“Yes!” Rob says cheerily. “And toast, and eggs, and coffee, if you want it. Come and get it, sleepyhead.”

Groaning, Bucky drags himself up from the couch, squinting his eyes against the morning light. “You know I don’t drink coffee.”

Rob shakes his head. “Yeah yeah, I know. Made hot water for your tea too.”

Bucky hums and drags himself over to the kitchen. “Jesus, what time is it?”

“Time to get up,” Rob says in disbelief, running his hand through his shaggy brown hair. “Don’t you have to be in the office by 9?”

Bucky grunts as he brushes past Rob to get his hands on the teapot. He pours the hot water into his favorite teal mug that reads ‘Bruce Springsteen’s Bathwater’. After rationing out enough loose tea into his infuser, he dunks it a few times before taking a big whiff. The smell of ginger and honey makes his eyelids flutter.

“I’ll take that as a yes. We’re running low on eggs and butter, by the way. Can you pick some up before you come home tonight?

Bucky hums in affirmation before taking a large sip of his tea. The hot liquid on his tongue instantly wakes him up a little, enough to shake him into awareness that something is off about this entire morning. “Thank you for making breakfast, but why are you even up? You always sleep in the day after class.”

“Right,” Rob sighs. “I _should_ be in bed. Unfortunately, I have a dissertation defense at 10, and a grant proposal due by 5. Fuck my life. Fridays are supposed to be sacred.”

“Only in academia. Welcome to the real world,” Bucky says with a smirk.

“Why were you sleeping on the couch anyway?” Rob asks.

It’s too early to have this argument again. Too early to walk on eggshells to avoid this argument. Too early for Bucky to start thinking about when, exactly, he accepted being in a relationship with someone who is obsessed with a superhero no one has heard or seen from in almost five years.

“I dunno,” he lies. “Just couldn’t get settled. Didn’t want to disturb you when you came to bed.”

“Aww,” Rob gushes, his green eyes showing a fondness Bucky rarely sees these days.

He cups Bucky’s cheek and smiles. In this moment Bucky can easily recall why they are together. He starts leaning in, his eyes closing when Rob’s hand drops.

“Oh my god, this is the best part!” Rob picks up the remote to turn up the volume on the soundbar and begins to recite Rogers’ speech in perfect time.

“No one likes war, but sometimes it’s necessary to defeat evil. We’re all in this together. Our troops are doing their part, what will you do?”

Bucky stuffs his mouth with bacon and turns his back on Rob and Steve Rogers’ voice.

Eight hours and four cups of mint-infused green tea later, Bucky finishes up editing a mind-numbing health policy report about improving hospital patient flow. For all the extra time and effort he’s put into this particular project, he only gets a thank you and another assignment. Besides the health and dental plan, there aren’t many perks to technical writing for the government.

Sometimes, after a project is over, there are a few weeks of dead time. No one checks for Bucky, or even cares what he’s doing in his cubicle. He just has to show up, turn on his computer, and look busy.

Looking busy comes easy because Bucky always has a short story he’s working on. Stories he’s sure will never be published but enjoys sharing with his writing group all the same.

Time flies when he’s engrossed in writing. Soon people are shuffling around and getting loud, talking about evening plans. It’s 5pm. Bucky signs out of his computer and says his goodbyes.

He zones out to the _American Gods_ audiobook during his commute home. By the time he parks, Bucky’s head is buzzing with the new idea for another short story. He hadn’t really planned on writing this evening. He was supposed to hang out, be social. Thanks to a year of therapy, Bucky’s self-aware enough to know when he self-isolates too much.

Sometimes he’ll meet up with John or Davey from the VA, but they’ve been busy lately. John just became a father and Davey is engaged and moving in with his fiance.

So the writing group, meeting up with Becca for a meal, and Rob are Bucky’s primary social outlets right now, and none of them are available tonight. Becca’s on another date with a new guy (Terry? Taylor?) and Rob always goes out for drinks with his coworkers on Fridays, which means Bucky has the place to himself for most of the night.

It’s fine really. Bucky’s made peace with the fact he and Rob will never be that couple. They aren’t madly in love, but they're good, they have a routine. They each have their own space. It’s not the stuff of romance novels, but it works.

Nicely dressed up people who smell of cologne and perfume pass him, and Bucky wonders where they’re off to. A date? A club? Dinner with friends? It’s Friday night and Bucky gets the distinct feeling he’s missing out on life. But his bed feels like it’s already made and it’s comfortable enough.

He swipes his electronic key and goes straight to check his mailbox. Most of it is junk--bills, sweepstake solicitations--and a golden bubble lined envelope. It’s over-stamped with every Avenger stamp available, except for Captain America. ROB is written in big black block letters, and there’s tape all along the back. Bucky frowns. There’s no return address but under Rob’s name in the smaller script is a sloppy ‘President of the Captain America Fan Club’ with a weird, winky emoticon next to it. Bucky lifts the envelope to his ear. Then he gently shakes it. Something small rattles about.

“Huh.”

Bucky folds the envelope under his arm and makes his way to the elevator. When Bucky finally gets to his apartment he breathes a sigh of relief. Even though he was expecting it, the silence that greets him is like slipping into a warm bath.

Late afternoon light sneaks in between the full-length blinds covering the sliding door to the balcony. He closes the door and cocks his head to take in the stillness for a moment, enjoying the absence of squealing fanboy babble and Captain America’s voice blaring.

He puts the mail and package down on the kitchen island and then grabs a glass of water. Bucky eyes the package once more. It’s not his mail. None of his business. He forces himself to pull his attention away from it. The best thing about Friday evenings is having the place to himself, and playing his music, loud. He pairs the bluetooth of his phone to the soundbar and puts on his favorite Spotify playlist.

A nice hot bath is in order. Bucky doesn’t bother waiting until he gets to the bathroom. It’s more fun to just pull off his shirt and fling it as he strolls down the hallway. He unfastens his belt, loosens his slacks, and lets them drop where they fall before stepping out of them. Sure Rob will fuss about it tomorrow, but it’s an easy thing to tidy up. Right now it’s about having absolute freedom to be irreverently sloppy.

Bucky lights a candle on the edge of the tub and draws a bubble bath using as much of Rob’s Avengers Bubble Bath as he can get away without raising suspicion.

As he soaks in the blissfully hot water, surrounded by silky bubbles, he stares at the tiles in the low glow of the candlelight. It’s nice, relaxing, and… sort of empty.

There used to be a time when Bucky would take great care in preparing for Rob’s return.

That seems like another person’s life now. Bucky runs his wet hands through his hair and thinks about how many more Friday nights like this he will spend in this place, somewhere between listlessness and complacency.

“Either shit or get off the can,” he mutters.

There’s nowhere to go really. Besides, Bucky has it pretty good here. Not having his dream job or a boyfriend he’s completely in tune with are first world problems. Bucky’s starting to think that’s not really a thing anyway. That perhaps longing for a life full of joy, love, and passion are remnants of a more naive version of himself.

He emerges from the bath more determined to enjoy his Friday ritual. He orders a pizza and turns on _Top Chef Junior._

The pizza is set to arrive in twenty minutes, so Bucky pulls up his favorite porn video and jerks off. He likes this one because the actors are looking at each other. They’re really kissing. And when they finally fuck, their foreheads are smashed together, their staring at each other’s eyes, sharing the same breath. For some reason, Bucky finds that hotter than any cumshot. He cleans up with ten minutes to spare. By the time the pizza guy arrives, he’s relaxed and back to his old self again.

He makes it about two shows and four slices in before he reconsiders the package sitting on the island once more.

About five minutes of staring pass before he stands and makes his way over to inspect it once again.

Thoughts of pipe bombs and anthrax cross his mind and he pokes at it gently with a butter knife, trying to get a sense of the shape of the thing inside. It’s definitely small and sort of rectangular.

It could be anything, which is what worries Bucky. Rob has amassed a small army of fans, and not all of them are stable. There’s been more than a few overzealous calls. Some of them are threatening, especially when Rob doesn’t “get his facts straight” about the good Captain. There’s also the “haters” as Rob calls them--those who dislike the way Rob “throws shade” at Sam Wilson or the ones who really believe Steve Rogers was a Hydra plant all along. Those are the scariest ones because they believe if Steve Rogers was a Nazi, then anyone who likes Steve Rogers is a Nazi and supports treason. Basically, Rob’s listeners are the perfect conditions for a shitstorm.

Really, being a good boyfriend is about looking out for your man, having his back, and protecting him. That, and Bucky’s fucking bored, and Rob doesn’t exactly seem impressed by the fandom letters he gets.

Just a little peek wouldn’t hurt. It may even save Rob’s life.

Bucky snorts at his own bullshit. Then he flips the package over and ever so carefully peels it open. Holding it at arm’s length, he squeezes the sides, forcing the mouth of the package open so he can look in it without reaching in.

There is a small white note and a small blue jump drive, not a bomb. That should be the end of it, but Bucky’s come this far, he might as well may as well fully inspect it.

He pulls out the note. The writing is very neat and pretty in cursive.

_“Thought you might be interested in this footage. It’s not really Captain America stuff, more like Steve Rogers uncensored.”_

Bucky raises his eyebrows. Footage? As in video footage? He only hesitates for a moment before heading back to his bedroom to view it.


	2. There Goes My Hero

The thrill of anticipation has Bucky scrambling to power up his weathered Mac. His leg bounces as he waits for the screen to light up. When the familiar _Watchmen_ smiley face wallpaper appears, Bucky glances over his shoulder as if Rob might leap out with a _gotcha!_ He shakes his head at his paranoia and plugs in the tiny blue jump drive.

A new folder pops up on the screen and he gnaws on his bottom lip before double-clicking. The drop-down menu reveals a short list of files, all videos.

The first video Bucky clicks on starts off shaky. The camera angle is not quite straight. The background is one of those green screens Bucky recognizes from behind-the-scenes footage. Off to the side is an American flag hanging on a brass pole. On the other side is an easel with a white poster board featuring a diagram of the standard American food pyramid. In front of the easel is a table with an assortment of crap that almost looks like food. Bucky wrinkles his nose as bad memories of middle school lunches resurface. 

The picture jumps a few times and then readjusts to an entirely different crooked angle. It's the optics of someone secretly recording from a camera phone or one of those cheap handhelds.

Bucky frowns. Should he even watch this? 

But then a deep familiar voice says, “Is that really necessary?”

The camera shifts slightly and there he is, in flesh—the original Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers. He’s just as tall and solid as the archive footage depicts. His head is mostly covered with a tight fitting blue cap. Closely cut dark blond hair peeks out the back. He’s wearing that god-awful tight blue suit from the Battle of New York era. The one that Bucky refers to as a onesie. Rob hates it when he calls it that, but it’s really the most apt description. 

If the voice and stupid blue suit didn’t offer enough clues, the way the guy fills out the backside of the suit definitely does. Bucky would recognize that ass anywhere. Steve Rogers’ glorious buns of steel rival his reputation. 

Rogers is just standing there, his back tense and his hands balled into fists while people flutter all around him. There’s a woman waving a giant makeup brush around his face and another one running a lint brush over his shoulders. A boom microphone dips low into the frame right behind him.

He turns his head to the side and even with the cowl on, his amazingly long eyelashes, sharp cheekbones and creamy Irish complexion give him away. Rogers’ profile is striking like this, the suit leaving little to the imagination and his powerful body practically thrumming with constrained impatience. Bucky can kind of see why people are so hung up on this guy. 

A lanky kid with curly brown hair comes from around the camera to stand in view of where Rogers has turned his head. He’s got big cue cards that Rogers studies. Even from the side, the deep downturn of Rogers’ lips is obvious. The kid holding the cue cards looks like he’s about to piss his pants. Rogers sighs, thanks the kid, and then straightens like he’s committing to it.

Suddenly a stout guy with mullet hair and glasses steps in front of Rogers with a clapboard that has unintelligible red writing Bucky can’t decipher.

“‘Rapping with Cap-- Nutrition’, take three,” the guy says before he slaps the clacker and steps out of the frame.

Rogers walks towards the official camera and takes a deep breath, like he’s about to do something very unpleasant. 

“Hi, I'm Captain America. Whether you're a student or a soldier, there's one thing that will always give you an edge---”

Rogers looks over to the congealed crap sitting on the lunch tray. If Bucky weren’t studying his face, he would have missed Rogers wrinkling his nose in disgust. Before Bucky can blink, Rogers is wearing that poster ready, war bonds salesman smile.

“A hot lunch.” 

With one hand on his hip, he looks up at the camera again. “You don't have to be injected with super soldier serum to have strong bones and muscles. A well-balanced…”

Rogers sighs, and hangs his head.

“Cut!” some guy off-camera (the director?) says. “Is there a problem, Captain?”

When Rogers raises his head his mouth is pinched like he’s biting back something wicked. But he must have a change of heart because he just shakes his head and says, “No. I—never mind. I’m ready.”

“Alright,” the director says slowly, bemusement in his voice. “Let’s take from the top.”

Rogers remains stiff as he delivers his lines. He’s not the best actor, but Bucky already knew that. Unless Rogers is leading a mission, he always comes across as an awkward, untrained performer trying to sell a gimmick. It’s one of the reasons Captain America has never cracked Buck’s top 10 superhero list.

Pointing to the diagram behind him, Rogers’ smile is plastic. “The food pyramid will help you find the balance.”

He looks back at the diagram and just stares. The silence stretches out uncomfortably for far too long. 

“Cut! Captain, what--”

Rogers’ head whips around, and he’s pushing that magnificent chin out. “I don’t like this script.”

“What? What’s wrong with it?” 

Rogers huffs a humourless chuckle. “Well, first of all, it’s not true. I ate plenty of fruits and vegetables before I got the serum and they never gave me muscles. Also, there’s _nothing_ nutritious about this lunch. I’ve read the reports. This….” Rogers picks up the offensive tray and grimaces before dropping it onto the table with a clang, “is hardly food. Did you know there are at least four parental groups actively pursuing legal action against The Department of Education for serving this stuff? There’s more sodium, sugar, and dye in an average school lunch than nutrients, and half of the food served has been linked to childhood diabetes.”

Someone off camera coughs loudly. 

“Uh, yeaaaah, listen, Captain,” the director says with great caution, like he’s painfully aware he is talking to someone who could seriously kick his ass or get him fired. “we really appreciate your concern---”

“Do you?” Rogers cuts the guy off. “Because it feels like you’re using me to perpetuate a lie.” The agitation in his voice is crystal clear now, and Bucky can’t take his eyes off of him. All of that previous awkwardness is gone. There’s still tension vibrating off of him but it isn’t from poor acting. It's the energy of someone gearing up for a fight. This is _the_ Steve Rogers who leads military missions. 

An older blonde woman comes out of nowhere, rushing up to Rogers with a placating smile. She pulls him to the side and they whisper furiously. Bucky leans in and turns up the volume as far as it can go. He can’t really hear what they’re saying but when the blonde woman backs up, Rogers turns back to the main camera and says, “Alright. I’m ready now.”

“Are you sure?” the director asks.

Rogers just gives him this look and Bucky smirks. 

“OK. From the top again.”

The video cuts out, and Bucky doesn’t even think twice about clicking on the second video file.

In this one, the frame is off to the side again, and the picture looks a little shaky. Definitely a hidden camera. Bucky shakes his head at whoever is behind it all, but he doesn’t turn it off.

Rogers walks forward and grabs the red chair and turns it around to straddle it. The boom mic is right above Rogers’ head and there’s cameras on each side of Rogers and one right in front of him. This time, the American flag in the background waves in the air, with the aid of a fan.

The same curly haired kid with the clapboard comes into the frame, only this time he’s wearing different clothing, and he has a few extra pimples on his face.

“‘Rapping with Cap-- Detention, take two,” he says with a loud clap before moving off to the side.

Rogers’ sigh is silent, but Bucky can see the way his chest heaves like he’s weary. 

“So, you got detention,” he says to the camera in front of him. “You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong, but the question is how are you gonna make things right? Maybe you were trying to be cool. But take it from a guy who's been frozen for 65 years---”

He breaks out into snickers before he can get the rest out. 

“Cut! Something funny Captain?”

Rogers looks around with half a smile. “Yeah, the script. Who wrote this?”

“We have a team of writers. Is there something in particular you find amusing?” the director asks, barely concealing his frustration. 

Rogers gives a sardonic smirk. “No, nothing _in particular_.”

“OK, well, let’s start from ‘But take it from a guy,’” the director says with a wary tone. 

Rogers goes stiff again. “The only way to really be cool, is to follow the rules. We all know what's right, we all know what's wrong. Next time those turkeys try to convince you to do something you know is wrong, just think to yourself: What would Captain America do?”

Bucky mouths along with Rogers’ monologue like it’s an old jingle. Rob plays the detention PSA often.

The director yells ‘cut’ and Rogers’ body visibly sags. Bucky frowns. This is sad. Why would Rogers agree to do these videos if he hated it so much? Is this a part of some sort of contractual obligation to the government? Considering the guy already gave up seventy years in service for his country, Bucky finds it all a bit disturbing. 

When the segment ends, Roger rises and thanks each and everyone who helped with the production, from the makeup and hair people to the camera crew. Bucky shakes his head. What a polite bastard. In fact, Rogers is so thoughtful and polite it’s irritating to think that someone creeping on Rogers like this. It’s not right.

Still, Bucky can’t quite bring himself to close out of the file.

Especially when the hidden camera follows Rogers as he exits the set. In spite of his discomfort with the creep filming, Bucky finds himself leaning in. 

The camera follows Rogers at a distance, even when he walks outside, his stupid red boots crunching on the gravel. Rogers is talking on a cell phone, but it’s hard to hear anything he’s saying. The camera person spots an open window with a flimsy curtain. Whoever this putz is, they have the audacity to climb onto the desk underneath the window and point the camera down, capturing Rogers as he paces back and forth.

“No, you listen. Do you have any idea how much time I spent in detention? How many times I’ve been _expelled_? The nuns hated me, they practically told me I was going to hell! And don’t get me started about my arrest record. I know you guys have the sealed files on my NSL rap sheet.” 

Rogers’ voice is rising along with Bucky’s eyebrows.

“I don’t want to hear it, Hill. Someone with my record has no business lecturing kids about detention. You think I’m some dumb lug who doesn’t know what he’s parroting? I prepared for this shoot. I was up half the night reading a shit ton of articles about school lunches and detention and it’s all a sham. The schools are pumping kids full of poison and then sending the most disadvantaged and vulnerable to detention, setting them up for prison. There’s data on that.” He pauses, listening to ‘Hill’ and then begins shaking his head. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about what it’s _supposed_ to be. I’m talking about what it is and I don’t want to be a part of it. I’m not a fucking hypocrite and I don’t want to spout bullshit I don’t believe in.”

A strange glee fills Bucky. Hot damn, Steve Rogers said ‘fucking.’ Steve Rogers was a regular in detention and was expelled often. Steve Rogers has a freakin’ rap sheet! Bucky’s not sure what the NSL is, but he commits it to memory so he can Google it later. 

“I’ve tried to be accommodating,” Rogers continues. “I even compromised to be a team player, but for every inch I give, SHIELD takes the whole goddamn rope. I won’t be a dancing monkey, not again. Find yourself another puppet.”

Rogers flips the phone lid closed and Bucky sits back, his mind blown. What would Rob think of _this_ Steve Rogers? 

The cell phone rings and Rogers stares down at it for four rings before answering. For a full minute he doesn’t say a word, just listens. 

Finally, he sighs into the phone. “I know. I hear you. And... I’m sorry for hanging up on you. I get that you’re just doing your job. You do it well. I shouldn’t take my frustration with SHIELD out on you. No, thank you. You’ve been beyond understanding, I’m just…” Rogers groans. “This isn’t what I signed up for. No, I’m not just talking about the PSAs. I don’t agree with Fury about a lot of things. I know he does, and I want to help…. Yeah, that sounds great, but it’s hard to get on the same page with someone who won’t tell anyone what page he’s on. His secrets have secrets!” 

Rogers hangs his head again as he listens. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. I just don’t agree with it. And I’m not sure I should be fighting for an organization that I don’t agree with. No, I _do_ mean that, Hill. No, I’m not quitting, at least not right now. But...yeah, OK. Fine. Fine. We’ll talk about this later. In the meantime, I want it on record that I object to this PR stunt Fury’s using me for. Captain America doing PSAs on nutrition and detention isn’t going to make anyone forget about all of the aliens or the damage to midtown.” 

Bucky gasps as Rogers tilts his face up to stare up at the sky and the camera. The picture shakes as the camera pulls back. That was really close. Bucky’s nose is practically touching the monitor. Will the person recording this stop, or are they dumb enough to push their luck until they get caught? 

The camera frame inches back towards the window again, and Bucky holds his breath, half expecting Rogers to spot the person and look right at them. But Rogers is looking across the street and when he speaks again, he sounds less frustrated, and calmer. 

“OK, I’ll finish the shoot, but this is the last one unless…. Well, what if I pick the next topic? Oh, I don’t know, how about something really important, like helping the homeless, taking care of the environment, standing up to bullies, even when it's your own government.”

Bucky snorts out a short laugh. 

“You do that, I can’t wait to hear his response.” Rogers says, chuckling. “Alright, you too. I’ll talk to you later.”

Rogers pockets the phone and… just stands there. Bucky frowns, watching as Rogers pushes his palms against his eyes, like he’s about to have some sort of breakdown. Bucky covers his mouth as it hits him. This guy just woke only a year ago after sacrificing himself to save lives, only to be brought back seventy years later to a world he doesn’t recognize. And they have him doing stupid PR that has nothing to do with why he signed up in the first place. It’s the first time Bucky has ever really considered Steve Rogers the man and his predicament—separate from Captain America—and it pulls Bucky’s mood down like a heavy stone. This is borderline tragic, and wrong. 

Rogers stays like that for several moments before taking in a few deep breaths and squaring his shoulders. And just like that, Rogers does an about face and turns towards the door. 

The camera drops quickly in a blur and there’s a thud of something hitting the floor that’s mostly muffled by the back door creaking open. The video goes haywire then, jerking from the floor to the hallway. It’s all unfocused and the only thing that’s being captured is the sound of someone running and muttering “Shit. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit...’ 

The video stops abruptly and Bucky just stares at the blank monitor for several minutes, trying to process what he just heard and saw. Bucky had always thought of Captain America as an antiquated symbol, too sanitized and righteous. But Steve Rogers curses, proudly embraces his trouble-making past, and rightly calls out SHIELD for trying to divert the focus on real issues by creating PR in the form of misinformation for school kids. 

Bucky might be a little in love. 

He plays the video one more time before clicking on the next one, which was dated a few weeks earlier. This time, the creepy phone camera captures Rogers being perfectly polite to everyone on set while trying to grin and bear his way through the PSA on the Captain America Fitness Challenge. Just like the previous video, Rogers is completely professional until he retreats back to his dressing room. The camera follows at a distance until Rogers disappears into a room and closes the door. The frame focuses on a burgundy door with a garish gold glitter star in the center. Apparently the wood isn’t very thick. Rogers' voice is barely muffled as he shouts out a string of expletives. The word ‘fuck’ is still as shocking as the first time Bucky heard Rogers say it. By the fourth one, Bucky’s picking his mouth off of the floor. 

He’s on his second viewing of the video when he hears the front door shut and the jiggle of keys hitting the kitchen counter. 

Bucky freezes like his hand has been caught in the cookie jar until instinct kicks in. He quickly closes out of the video, shuts his laptop, and pulls out the jump drive.

Cursing under his breath, he shoves the tiny blue drive into the bubble wrap and stuffs all of it back into the envelope. Ideally, he would put the envelope on Rob’s desk, or strategically place it under the other mail on the kitchen island. But it’s too late for that now.

He quickly tries to smooth down the clear tape covering the flaps, even though the damage from tearing it open is visible. Just as soft footsteps reach his doorway, he throws himself on the bed, picks up his Kindle from the night stand, and tries to look like he’s reading as he turns it on. 

“Honey, I’m home!” Rob says, knocking on the door.

“Yay,” Bucky says, infusing some cheer into his voice, but it sounds super fake and strained to his own ears. When Rob opens the door, Bucky tries to feign casual ease. “Hey babe.”

Rob wrinkles his nose. “Babe? That’s a new one.” His puzzled expression quickly morphs into a mischievous one as he stalks toward the bed. “Mmm, is someone feeling frisky today?”

It’s been a long time since Bucky and Rob have fucked, and honestly Bucky misses sex. Between Rob’s podcast and fanclub obsession and Bucky’s long work days and writing, they’ve fallen into a routine of passing each other. When they do touch, it’s usually to cuddle after a hard day, both falling to sleep before anything can get started. 

Bucky gives a one shoulder shrug. “Maybe.”

Rob’s smirk widens into a full blown smile Bucky hasn’t seen in a long time. He peels off his blazer, and Bucky takes stock of the way his shirt stretches with the movement. A spark of desire begins to stir inside of Bucky. God, it really has been ages. Rob’s fitted green shirt fits his lithe runner’s body perfectly. It’s been too long since Bucky has seen that body bare.

“Come here, you,” Rob murmurs, leaning over. 

A smile blooms on Bucky’s lips as he sits up to meet Rob’s lips. Bucky can smell the pistachios Rob loves so much on his breath. Bucky wraps his arms around Rob’s neck to pull him down but Rob jerks back suddenly. 

“What’s this?” 

The buzz of wakening lust disintegrates, replaced by dread. Bucky swallows hard as Rob holds up the envelope with torn tape and the name ROB written in big black sharpie letters.

“Is this mine?”

Bucky nodded. “Uh…yeah” 

“Did you… Bucky, what the hell? Did you open my mail?”

Rob’s tone is climbing higher and higher, causing Bucky to draw back on the bed to put some distance between them. 

“I’m sorry!”

“Sorry? Bucky, this is _so_ uncool!” Rob looks wounded, and Bucky feels like a first rate heel. 

“You’re right, it wasn’t cool at all. But in my defense, it looked really suspicious. Your podcast thing and fanclub attracts a lot of… eccentric people and---”

“Oh so now my audience is full of nuts?” Rob says angrily. “So what does that make me?”

Bucky tries to fix his face and blocks out the first thought that comes to mind because honestly sometimes Rob’s obsession with Captain America borders on nutty, but he isn’t gonna say that. He has to try a different tactic.

“Remember three years ago, that mail bomber who targeted anyone connected to SHIELD? He had a manifesto about Captain America being a traitor, called him Captain Hydra and said anyone supporting him was probably Hydra too.”

Rob narrows his eyes. “Yeah, I remember.”

“And then last year, the anthrax letters to the FBI after they cleared Steve Rogers of any Hydra related activity….”

“Hmm…” Rob’s anger appears to be evaporating.

Bucky runs his hand through his hair and blows out a hard breath because this isn’t just an excuse. When that package arrived, he acted on his gut instinct. 

“Something was just off about this package. I had to make sure. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Rob’s cheeks flush as he stares at the envelope. “Yeah OK, I guess I can see that. Actually, that’s sorta sweet of you.”

Bucky sighs in relief.

“But what if it _had_ been a bomb or anthrax?” Rob asks with sudden concern in his eyes. “You’d be dead.”

Bucky shrugs. “I’d never be able to live with myself if I had ignored my gut and something happened to you.”

“Damn, what did I do to deserve you?” Rob sighs, wrapping his arms around Bucky.

Bucky closes his eyes and squeezes back, overwhelmed with how much he’s missed being held. What happened to them? 

Rob pulls back to brush back Bucky’s hair from his eyes. “You’re so protective. It’s one of your best and worst traits. Thank you.” Bucky smiles, oddly touched. “So what’s in there?” 

Bucky shakes his head, smirking. “You really have to see it to believe it.”

Rob raises a curious eyebrow. “Is it something good?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky contemplates. “I think that depends on the viewer. But considering the subject matter, I know you’re gonna wanna see it.”

Rob’s brow furrows and then slowly, almost comically, his eyes begin to widen. “Does it have something to do with Steve Rogers?”

Bucky grins and gives a little shrug. Rob shrieks like a twelve year old and seizes the envelope with the zeal of man who’s found buried treasure.

“What is it? What. Is. It?” he cries, tearing it open with a wildness that makes Bucky snort. 

The blue jump drive falls out onto the bed, and Rob grabs it like it might try to escape. Bucky covers a laugh as Rob holds it up for inspection. 

“What’s on here? Have you seen it? Bucky!”

“Sheesh, calm down,” Bucky says, his heart picking up. This could go sideways really fast. It’s probably best to tell the truth. Bucky takes a step back and winces. “Yeah, looked at it. It’s just some video footage. Looked a little sketch, like Rogers didn’t know he was being filmed.”

Rob sort of flails, his hands waving like he’s doing really bad jazz hands. “Sweet Jesus!”

He does a full 180 turn and walks right out of the room. The door across the hall opens and clicks shut. 

The silence that follows is heavy as Bucky listens for any type of reaction. Honestly, he’s really curious. Will it drive Rob to tears to hear his idol cursing and sullying the name of the government and SHIELD? Maybe Rob will just laugh and find it endearing. There’s no sound though, and Bucky is beginning to think Rob is frozen in shock.

“HOLY SHIT!”

“Good evening, Commandos! I’m sorry to deviate from our regularly scheduled program but we gotta discuss the videos I uploaded to the website, the alleged behind the scenes footage of Captain Rogers’ legendary PSA series. By now it looks like….wow, yeah... twenty thousand of you and counting, have already viewed it and it's received 200 comments so far. As most of you have noted this video is very, _very_ out of character for the Steve Rogers we all know and admire.

Many of you have rightfully questioned the authenticity of this video and I think that is a very logical consideration. We all know in this day and age, any troll on the web with basic software can splice and edit things to look the way they want. Now, I haven’t been in possession of this footage for very long, like I said, it just arrived today. But I have watched all six videos several times. Call it intuition or just old fashioned common sense, but I think it is definitely a hoax. 

Look, it comes down to this -- if you believe these videos are real, then everything we know about Steve Rogers and Captain America is a lie. Steve Rogers was _not_ a liar. He didn’t swear. He was not some anti-government SJW with an arrest record. I looked up the NSL, also known as The National Student League and later called the American Student Union. It’s socialist organization that advocates for commie things that are really anti-American.” Rob actually laughs then. “C’mon, this is a no-brainer. There’s no way they would let a socialist protester with an arrest record become Captain America. Anyway, there’s no record of Steve Rogers affiliated with the NSL or with an arrest record. If I had to guess, this is just another attempt to smear the name and legacy of Steve Rogers. Well, we’re not falling for it. We know who Steve Rogers was. Steve Rogers was a kid from Brooklyn who went to war for his country and fellow man. So I’m calling bullshit. If you disagree, you know my number; I’d love to hear your argument for why you think this isn’t fake news.”

Bucky doesn’t even realize he’s pacing the floor until Rob is done with his rant. 

Anger, confusion, nagging insecurity and indignation are all colliding with each other, making Bucky’s heart race.

There is something seriously wrong here. Bucky was expecting Rob to be amused or maybe even intrigued by the video. He thought it would launch a dozen shows analyzing ‘the man behind the mask’ or something like that. But this… this is disturbing. Rob’s refusal to believe that Captain America was anything other than perfect means he can’t accept that the guy actually had faults. That he was human. 

And where does that leave Bucky? With his bad arm, shitty job, and beer gut. He’s as imperfect as they come. 

Before he can second guess himself, Bucky pulls out his laptop. He’s running on pure indignation and adrenaline now. It feels reckless but also pretty damn good. 

“Got something to get off my chest too,” he mutters, pulling up the website for Rob’s fanclub and podcast.

He has to register and make a freakin’ account to engage. This is ridiculous. Bucky hates all of this stuff. The fanboy culture, the hero worship. For a second, he reconsiders, but no, Rob and his cult of Captain America stans need a reality check. If not Bucky, who will give them the truth serum they desperately need? This needs to happen. Now.

Bucky registers as _DevilsAdvocate_ and gets a confirmation through email, which means Rob will know it’s coming from him once he posts. 

Fine.

Bucky types furiously on autopilot, only stopping a few times to edit for punctuation and grammar. By the time he’s done, his hands are shaking and there's a solid wall of text waiting to be posted.

It’s very tempting to post immediately, but as a technical writer Bucky is all too familiar with the calamity emotional posting can cause. Besides, if he’s going to ream out his boyfriend using written form, his post has to be flawless.

Running his hand through his hair, Bucky takes a deep breath and forces himself to read what he just wrote, slowly. Another half-hour passes as he removes some emotionally charged language and a few digs that can be misconstrued as jaded lover shade. He reads it over a third time just to be sure he’s caught everything before finally hitting ‘post.’

The tight coil of irritation unfurls and drains out. Sure it’s super passive-aggressive, but for the first time in a long time Bucky feels like he’s telling the truth about how he feels about Rob’s obsession with Captain America.

Bucky stays up for a long time after that, waiting for the bomb he created to implode. He listens closely for any little movement outside his door. He’s not sure what he’s expecting. Perhaps Rob will come bursting through the bedroom door, or call out his post publicly on the podcast. Both of those scenarios are super dramatic, but so was Bucky’s long-ass post.

But Rob isn’t talking about Bucky or his post; he’s blabbering about the new Captain America monument proposal and all of the controversy surrounding it. Bucky rolls his eyes. The guy already has a monument in Brooklyn, and now that Sam Wilson is Captain America, the construction of a Steve Rogers statue seems intentionally disrespectful. Of course, Rob doesn’t think so. He’s ranting about the need for more Steve Rogers monuments.

The slow sinking disappointment of not being acknowledged begins to creep in, and Bucky tries to stave it off by refreshing the Steve Rogers’ forums page. So far Bucky’s comment only has 1 ‘like’ and 0 comments. Perhaps that’s the most disappointing thing of all. He was looking for an argument. 

The general consensus on the discussion board is that the videos are a hoax. A few people even suggest that it's digital deep fake stuff generated by Russian trolls trying to cause division and anti-Avenger sentiment since Avengers are mostly American. Bucky rolls his eyes hard at that. 

A few people post shorter versions of Bucky’s comment, showing support for the authenticity of the videos, but like Bucky, those posts are completely ignored, lost in the sea of ‘real’ Captain America fans. 

Bucky’s last remaining hope for a proper argument ends when Rob says goodbye to his listeners and announces the next program topic: ‘Steve Rogers’ One True Love- Peggy Carter.’ That means Rob is about to come to bed.

But Bucky’s still too amped and annoyed to pretend everything is normal. He shuts the laptop down quickly, rushes to turn off the bedroom light, and jumps into the bed to feign sleep, even though he’s wound up tighter than a spring coil.

Rob doesn’t come to bed right away. In fact, it feels like it’s taking him forever. Bucky lies in bed, stiff and hyper-aware of his breathing. It’s hard not to think about how much time has passed and what it may mean.

When he finally starts to drift into real sleep, the bedroom door opens.

Despite his previous efforts to look perfectly normal in sleep, now Bucky’s holding his breath. Light floods the room, hitting Bucky’s eyes. He squints and looks over. Rob’s face is splotchy red and his eyes have an uncharacteristic dangerous glint to them. 

Bucky swallows and slowly sits up. “Hey.”

Rob levels a glare at Bucky. “Don’t hey me...what the fuck was that?”

Licking his lips to stall, Bucky thinks of the best way to respond. 

When he posted that long rant, he was itching for a response from Rob, hell, maybe even an argument. But now he’s thinking their relationship isn’t exactly solid. If anything, they are drifting further apart these days. And you don’t rattle something that’s falling apart unless you have made up your mind to destroy it. Is that what he wants?

Bucky draws the duvet closer to him. “Well, you invited people with different opinions to share, and I really disagreed with what you said about the videos. I thought it’d be good to share my view of it.”

Rob huffs as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He holds it up with a weird twisted smile on his face, like he’s both disgusted and amazed at what he’s looking at.

“So this is really your opinion? I can’t believe you wrote this: ‘Captain America fans need to wake the fuck up. The guy is a super soldier, not a god or a robot. He’s HUMAN, with faults and quirks like the rest of us. There’s someone behind that gimmicky cowl. If you really love the guy, maybe you’d take the time to appreciate the burden of trying to live up to an impossible paragon of virtue all the time. 

“Honestly, I hope to God this _is_ the real Steve Rogers. So what if he curses?! He’s saying great stuff while he does it. He wants to talk about real issues and not be a puppet. He values truth, not bullshit. When did being a social justice warrior become a bad thing? Social justice literally means trying to make the world a better place. That’s what heroes do. In my opinion the guy in the video is definitely Steve Rogers, and Steve Rogers kicks Captain America’s ass when it comes to being a role model.”

Rob shakes his head as he finishes and slowly raises his eyes to look at Bucky. The look of betrayal is almost too much. Bucky would probably laugh if he didn’t know just how seriously Rob takes all of this stuff.

“Is that really so bad?” Bucky ventures. “I mean, that’s basically me giving Steve Rogers two thumbs up.”

Rob opens his mouth and then closes it quickly. He stands there and just looks at Bucky for a full minute before sighing deeply. 

“Look, it’s late, and… I’m not in the mood to argue,” Rob says. “I just wish you would have told me all of this in person. We could have talked about it. You’ve _never_ shown any interest in my show or blog, so this… it just feels like it came outta left field.”

Bucky drops his eyes, feeling guilt churn in his gut. As much as he tried to make his argument non-personal, the whole rant probably does feel like a personal jab. 

And maybe it is. 

Bucky isn’t even sure why he felt the need to write it now. He’s pretty sure he didn’t change any hearts or minds. 

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “You’re right.”

Rob narrows his eyes and then drags his hand over his face with a groan. “Don’t do that. Now I feel bad.”

“Do what?”

“That pouting thing you do with your lips. It makes me feel like an ogre… look, I overreacted, OK? I did invite people to make an opposing argument, and yours was one of the best…”

Bucky studies Rob warily. “Yeah?”

Rob rolls his eyes and nods, but there’s a small smirk on his face. Bucky loosens his grip on the duvet and discreetly exhales.

“So devil’s advocate, huh?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Someone had to do it.”

Rob chuckles and shakes his head as he turns the light off. When he slips into bed, he throws his arm over Bucky’s middle and snuggles close. “My boyfriend, the devil’s advocate. Cute. Love you.”

A little relieved, a little disappointed, Bucky leans in, allowing himself to be enveloped. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he should be feeling right now. “G’night.”

The next morning, Bucky rolls over and finds he’s alone. It takes a few minutes for his brain to come online and put together that it’s Saturday. That means Rob has already left for his Howling Commando gaming meeting. They play Avenger and World War II games and occasionally cosplay some of Captain America’s most famous battles. Bucky’s been to a few of the meetings and found them insanely boring, not necessarily because of the games but it’s all of the smack talking and grandstanding about war games by a bunch of guys that have never served in the military or been to war. To each their own, but Bucky just doesn’t understand it. He prefers sleeping in on Saturday mornings.

Besides, his writing critique group meets on Saturday afternoons, so he and Rob have an unspoken agreement to do their own thing on Saturdays.

Bucky rolls back over and sleeps for another hour before the urge to take a piss pulls him out of bed. He does his business and returns to bed with his laptop in tow. He powers it up to read this week’s entries for his critique group.

He decides to check his email first. Sitting at the top is an unread new email from Rob’s Captain America website.

A little smile pulls at Bucky’s lips. Even though he resolved to put last night’s fiasco behind him, he’s still craving some sort of engagement about his post. Whether it be affirmation or someone who wants to debate with him. Hell, even a ‘fuck you, pal’ would be gratifying at this point.

He clicks the email and it says that he has a private message waiting for him at the site. Bucky quickly clicks back to the website to sign in. In his inbox is an email from someone named **Nobody2014.**

It’s not a ‘fuck you’ or a long rebuttal. There’s only two short sentences, a dozen words, and a name. 

_I really liked your post. Thanks for writing that.  
-Steve_


	3. The Nicest Catfish

It seems like too much of a coincidence that a guy named ‘Steve’ from a Steve Rogers fan site would send Bucky a private message complimenting his condescending post about Captain America sycophants. It’s probably a prank, one of those attempts to engage a newbie in the online community for the sole purpose of sharing the exchange for public humiliation. It could also be a message from a nut case who really believes they are Steve Rogers, or maybe it’s just someone who has created an online persona they want to lose themself in.

The thing is, Bucky finds any of those possibilities deeply disturbing. He doesn’t like playing online for exactly this reason. In high school, he experienced a really bad (read: traumatic) incident of online bullying via catfishing, and ever since he’s limited his interactions to people he knows in real life or who will quickly agree to meet him. It’s why he only lurks on his social media platforms and the online groups related to his interests.

He knows he’s missing interesting new conversation and connections with interesting people but it’s shit like this, and shit like that asshole in high school, that makes missing out worth it.

The correct course of action when one encounters a troll or catfish is to not engage. Bucky is seriously considering deleting the email--hell, his whole account--but a small, nagging voice won’t let him. Besides, there’s a small chance this guy’s name really is Steve, and Bucky is just being paranoid.

And it’s not like high school when Bucky was naive and desperate for any type of connection or word of validation. He’s more confident now and can recognize bullshit. 

Bucky is seriously overthinking this. He realizes he’s been staring at the screen for way too long and begins to type.

_Hey Steve,_

_Is that your real name? I bet your last name is Rogers, right? ;) Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed my post. I was starting to think no one read it. There seems to be massive group think on this site. Not even sure why I signed up, tbh. I think most people on here have lost touch with reality. They don’t seem to understand Captain America isn’t a real person._

_-John_

“As in John Doe, motherfucker,” Bucky mutters. He thinks more about that last line, wondering if it’s too obvious he’s trying to press buttons. But antagonizing is the best way to draw out the true intentions of a troll or catfish. 

Smiling a little maniacally, he hits ‘send’ and then logs off. 

It’s 11:00am and Bucky has writing group submissions to review, a hot shower to take, and if he hurries, a big breakfast he can grab at the diner.

There’s a small line outside of the diner. In the brisk chill of an overcast fall morning, Bucky contemplates skipping it to retreat back into the warmth of his apartment, where he can dig out some oatmeal. The line moves quickly though when a group of eight is seated, so Bucky stuffs his hands in the pockets of his ski jacket and tries not to think about whether ‘Steve’ responded to his email. It’s really dumb to care about a troll or catfish. _Especially_ if the person turns out to be a catfish troll.

Of course, there’s always the sliver of a chance this ‘Steve’ person is someone who genuinely likes Bucky’s ideas about Captain America. That would be nice, actually. Bucky physically shakes his head to clear the foolish thought that it could even be _the_ Steve Rogers. It’s best to a derail stupid daydream like that before it turns into something ridiculous like hope. 

The hostess peeks out of the front door and tells him to follow her. The diner is packed. Half of the crowd is made up of families, and the other half consists of couples and groups of friends.

Bucky is seated in the back, near the window. Just as he begins to scan the diner for any sign of Christine, she emerges from the kitchen with a tray full of food. 

The plates on her tray shake noisily as she navigates towards a table occupied by a young family of five. After setting their plates down and making sure they have what they need, she returns to the kitchen. Bucky deflates a little and waits to see who his server will be. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when Christine comes back out with an ice-cold pitcher of water and heads straight towards him.

“Mornin’, Bucky!” she says, flashing a bright smile as she pours him a glass.

“Mornin’,” Bucky says. “It's really busy on Saturdays, huh?”

“Yeah. It gets a little crazy,” she says, glancing around the packed diner. “It's worse towards noon. You want some coffee while you look over the menu?”

“Nah, coffee’s not my thing. I’d love some tea though,” Bucky says with a tentative smile, hoping he’s not making her life more difficult. 

“You’re a tea man? We got Lipton,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

Out of pure instinct, Bucky cringes.

Christine chuckles. “Yeah, I figured you were _that_ kind of tea person.”

“Don’t!” Bucky puts a warning finger up.

“Don’t what?” Christine asks with fake innocence.

“Don’t call me a... hipster,” Bucky whispers like the word is dirty. It sort of is.

Christine leans over, her hazel eyes twinkling as she gives him a once over. “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you totally _are_ a hipster.”

Bucky snatches the blue beanie off of his head and glances down at his blue and gray plaid shirt. Before he can open his mouth to protest though, Christine is shaking her head. 

“Don’t try to deny it, it’s a good look on you. Besides, being a hipster has nothing to do with liking good tea. I know good tea, and if I were you, I would not drink ours. How about I bring you some fresh squeezed OJ?”

Bucky lets the urge to defend himself against the hipster label pass and gives her a small smile. “That’ll be great.”

She winks and walks away, checking on a few tables on her way back. 

Bucky surveys the room. Dining alone usually doesn’t bother him, but when a place is packed like this, it’s hard to not be self-conscious about flying solo. The ease and joviality amongst the couples in the diner are tugging at a string of nostalgia for the companionship he had with Rob just a year ago. The sudden pang of loneliness that hits Bucky has nothing to do with eating alone.

When Christine returns with a glass of cold water and a large glass of orange pulpy goodness, he’s grateful to be pulled out of his unexpected bout of melancholy. 

“No notebook today?” she asks.

Bucky pulls his writing pad and favorite pen out of his messenger bag. “Wanted to put my order in before I started.”

“Good plan. Do you need some more time with the menu?”

“Nope,” Bucky says, pushing it away. “I want the sampler platter, eggs scrambled with cheese, with bacon and sourdough toast.”

“Got it,” Christine says. “I’ll be right back.” 

Bucky starts writing the scene he imagined while waiting in line. By the time Christine returns with his food, he has a page and half-written. This close up, Bucky can see the sweat on Christine’s brow and the way she sways forward as she sets his platter down. Bucky has enough experience helping his mom during her pregnancies to recognize morning sickness. He also knows it doesn’t just happen in the beginning.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, looking at her in concern.

“No problem,” she says. “Anything else?”

Bucky chews on his lips as he considers whether to say what he’s thinking. Fuck it, the worst she could do is say no. “Would you get in trouble if you took a load off and sat with me for a few moments?”

Christine glances back at the kitchen doors and sighs. “Yeah, I would.”

Bucky frowns. “It just looks like you could use a break.”

“I’m fine, really,” she says with a tired smile.

“When’s your next break?”

Christine narrows her eyes. “Are you hitting on me?”

“What? No!” Bucky huffs. “I mean, you’re…” He motions to her belly. “And you look….sorta ill.” 

“Aww, you're worried about me,” she coos. “Most people just want their food. Seriously though, I’ll be alright. I'm going on maternity leave soon.”

Bucky sighs in relief. “Good.”

“Yeah, especially in this line of work,” Christine says. “The owner, Mage, is one of those old school feminists. We’re one of only five restaurants in the city that gives servers paid parental leave.”

“No shit,” Bucky says, nodding in approval. Bucky’s respect for the owner and diner increases tenfold. “So how long do you get?”

“Twelve weeks,” she said, trying to do a little shimmy.

“Nice. Although, bad news for me,” Bucky says with a smirk. “This place won’t be the same without you.”

Christine raises one appraising eyebrow. 

“I swear I’m not flirting with you,” Bucky holds up his hands. 

“Hmm, if you say so. I mean you’re cute, but I’m very taken.” She rubs her belly to emphasize the point.

Bucky snorts. “No offense, but I’m also in a relationship.”

“Just checking,” she says warily. “You’d be surprised how many guys come in here looking for a date.”

“Ugh, gross.” Just the thought of Christine enduring that all day is irritating. 

“ _So_ gross,” she agrees. “So you’re just nice like that?”

Bucky gives a half-shrug. “You said we were friends. I check in on my friends.”

“I did say that, and we are.” She’s full-on grinning now as she points down to his open notebook. “So friend, how’s your story coming?” 

Ducking his head a little, Bucky makes a non-committal sound. “Uh, this is a different one.”

Christine puts her hand on her hip. “Just how many stories are you working on?”

“Don’t ask,” Bucky groans and covers his eyes. “Sometimes I have trouble focusing. But I think I’m gonna stick with this one until I finish it.”

She cocks her head, considering him. “Would it help if you had an incentive? I could illustrate something for you.”

Bucky’s eyes pop, looking at Christine with new eyes. “You draw?” 

“Do I?” she replies a bit smugly. “That’s my first job. This is my side gig to save up for the baby.”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’s so surprised, but he is. He looks at Christine and realizes he made a dozen assumptions about her life based on a few short interactions.

“That’s really awesome,” he says. “I’d love to see your work sometime. Are you serious about drawing for me?”

“Sure,” she says, glancing around again. The diner is becoming more crowded, which is saying a lot, since it was already packed. “I don’t have any cards on me, but I’ll leave you my info on your receipt… on one condition.”

Excitement for the possibility of having a professional illustrator has Bucky nodding before he even knows what her condition is. 

“You name it.”

“You have to finish the story first, _and_ I get first dibs on reading it.”

Bucky laughs. “Wow, that’s a steep order. OK, deal. When I finish it five years from now, you’ll be the first one to read it.”

“It better not take five years,” Christine says with an exaggerated scowl. “That totally defeats the purpose of my incentive.”

“Yeah, well maybe now that I have an illustrator, it’ll only take three years,” Bucky teases.

She laughs, but it’s cut off when a large woman with red hair calls her name across the diner. Bucky peers over. The woman looks severe with her hard eyes and hands on her hips. 

“Yikes!” Christine grimaces. “That’s my boss. I’ll leave you my info when I bring you the check. Enjoy your breakfast!”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, toasting her with a piece of bacon. He takes a bite and has to suppress a moan as the applewood flavor explodes in his mouth. He finishes it all in two bites, wipes his hands, and flips to a fresh page in his notepad with renewed enthusiasm.

Christine O’Brien.

Bucky studies the name, email address, and social media handles listed on his receipt. He wonders if she’s Irish or if that’s her husband’s last name. Bucky doesn’t recall a ring on her finger. At any rate, he finally has a full name to put with the person and an illustrator for his story. 

He’s full and happy when he leaves the diner to head to his writing group. 

Bucky’s writing critique group meets at the neighborhood library, which is only two blocks away from the diner and four blocks away from his apartment. They always use the large fancy reading room tucked away in the back of the least trafficked section of the stacks. It makes it feel like a secret society, even though the writing group is open to anyone who wants to join. 

For the past two years, the same 10-12 people show up every week. Members take turns submitting their work for critique and feedback and only two members can submit for each meeting. Bucky just went last week, so he isn’t due to submit anything for another month or so. That’s fine because he really enjoys reading other people’s work. It gives him a chance to see different ways of writing and reflect on his own strengths and weaknesses. Plus Bucky loves _giving_ feedback. No one ever asks him what he thinks when he edits stuff for his job, they just want his edits. In the writing group, Bucky’s opinion is valued and so is his writing. It's not enough to give him the confidence to publish, but sometimes, the group makes me believe that he could. 

The hour they allot for the writing group always goes by too fast, but not today. Bucky can feel every minute of it passing. They have a rule about not checking cell phones, but right now Bucky is so close to breaking that rule. It’s stupid. ‘Steve’ isn’t even a real person, well, probably not. 

Still, as his group members provide feedback, Bucky can’t help but wonder if ‘Steve’ has already responded to his email, and what the email might say. It’s distracting enough to pull Bucky’s eyes to his messenger bag where his phone is tucked inside. 

Bucky’s not sure what he’ll do if the person makes the outrageous claim that he is actually the real Steve Rogers. There are so many wacky ways this could go, all of them are strangely more interesting than the writing group is right now. 

Finally, the group leader assigns the new group of people to be critiqued and thanks everyone for coming. In the next second, Bucky is on his feet and moving towards the door. Before he can make it though, Janice, one of the writers they critiqued today, calls his name. Bucky likes Janice. She’s kind and a good writer. So he tries to be patient and attentive as she thanks him and tells him how much his feedback helped her. Bucky is gracious and polite but soon makes an excuse to be on his way. It feels good to be appreciated, but his mind is preoccupied with more insipid things like whether a nameless, faceless person on a stupid fansite wrote him back. 

As he makes his way out of the library, Bucky scans his phone for email notifications. There’s 1 new message from the site.

Bucky grins and picks up the pace to get back home.

The anticipation coursing through him as he unlocks his door feels a little shameful, and Bucky tries not to think about how pathetic his life is that troll mail has become the most exciting thing he has going on.

Rob is still out so Bucky doesn’t have to hide what he’s doing or explain himself, not that Rob would necessarily notice. These days he tends to spend more time in his Steve Rogers Cap-cave than he does with Bucky.

Bucky probably should be more concerned, perhaps even angry about that, but he’s not and he doesn’t really want to think about why.

He goes straight to his laptop. Now it’s time to see just what kind of internet character he’s dealing with.

_Hi John,_

_Yes, my last name is Rogers. Is ‘John’ your real name? I get the feeling it’s not. You probably think my name is fake too. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. There’s a lot of tricksters on the internet. Based on your post though, I don’t think you’d treat me any different either way._

_So I’m curious, what did you mean by Captain America isn’t real? Do you mean you think of the superhero as more of a public persona or a symbol? Or are you saying that he never actually existed? I know there are theories out there about him being a government plant. Some people think he was played by different actors both in movies and in actual battle. One time I came across a Captain America conspiracy site where people thought the Howling Commando missions never even happened. They said it was all orchestrated to drive up enlistment and morale. Of course, there are still those who think CA was a spy for Hydra. I hope you’re not one of those. I’d be curious to hear your thoughts, either way, considering your rant about CA’s “goody two shoes” image._

_Also, this is probably a weird question, but if you dislike CA so much, why would you join and post on that website? I’m not judging you at all, just genuinely curious._

_-Steve_

Buck narrows his eyes. That last part is probably a trick question, designed to expose Bucky as the troll. Is that what Bucky is? He’s not really a Captain America fan, but he joined a fansite dedicated to the guy so that he could argue with people on the site. Posting that long rant was like taking a bat to a beehive. Huh. Maybe Bucky is the troll here. But he’ll be damned if some other troll is going to expose his trolling.

_Steve,_

_Yes, of course, my name is John, why would I need a fake name on a CA fansite? CA has the most patriotic, clean cut, law abiding fans of any superhero. There’s no need for deception. ;)_

_To answer your first question though, I think CA is just as real as we are :D No seriously, I actually do think the guy exists (existed?). I’m just not sure if he still does. He’s been gone for like four years. I honestly believe he may have died in that helicarrier fiasco and they’re covering it up. It would be pretty devastating to the national morale to find out Hydra not only destroyed half of DC but also CA. And since there’s no identifiable target to retaliate against, it’s a better look to say he just passed his shield to Sam Wilson and resigned. But who knows?_

_I do believe SHIELD’s report that he was frozen for over seventy years before they discovered him because it was verified by Peggy Carter herself before she died, and I trust her more than SHIELD. Plus we all saw what he did in New York, we saw the physical tests, they timed how fast he could run in real time, and then there’s all of his before and after interviews. It’s the same fucking guy. Besides, I just can’t get into the whole conspiracy/fake news movement. Not when there are facts to contradict every CA theory out there. If you can’t trust anything you read or see, then we’re doomed to a life of paranoia and distrust. I just can’t live like that, you know?_

_Which I guess is my partial answer to your second question. I’m dating a guy who’s in the fan club, which is why I know about this site. I saw the videos and listened to the podcast and I just had to respond. Sometimes I can’t let bullshit stand, I have to confront it. But you know all about that, right, Captain? ;)_

__

__

_The boyfriend isn’t too happy about my post, but it felt good to get it off my chest. If I saved just one CA fan from drowning in the sea of denial about their precious fave, it was worth it._

_-John_

Once again, Bucky is surprised at the huge block of text. His email reply is over a page long. Even with the heavy dose of sarcasm, it’s way too much and too truthful for a game of internet chicken with a guy who claims his name is Steve Rogers. Everyone knows if you give trolls too much to chew on they have more rope to hang you with. Bucky knows the rules but he still doesn’t want to erase anything. He is especially interested to see how this ‘Steve Rogers’ person will respond to being referred to as ‘Captain.’ It will either take the guy’s catfish game to an absurd new level or he’ll break and admit that it’s a fake name.

Bucky hits send and closes out of the site. Standing up to stretch, he steps away from his laptop to clear his head. With the ‘Steve’ business out of the way, it’s time to write. Rob is gone and the apartment is just quiet enough to get in a few thousand words. 

He syncs his phone to the soundbar to play his favorite writing playlist. The soft dreamy guitar of ‘To Whom It May Concern’ by The Civil Wars fills the room. It’s the perfect background music for his new story about a guy who has given up on finding love and is about to take a vow of celibacy to join the priesthood. It may or may not be a metaphor for Bucky’s life right now, but he refuses to examine it too closely. 

Six folk songs and two pages later, the front door opens.

“Bucky? Are you home?”

“Hey, in here,” Bucky calls.

Rob enters their bedroom looking like he’s been in a fight; his clothing is wrinkled, his hair is tousled and his face is flushed. 

Bucky chuckles. “Geez, what did you guys get into?” 

“A little cosplay,” Rob says, grinning. “That asshole Jeff tried to challenge my position as leader of the Avengers. They cleared the floor, and we fought for it.”

“Wow, sounds epic,” Bucky says, biting back a smile.

“It was!” Rob practically shouts as he starts pacing. “I kicked his ass all over the room. I mean he knows a little MMA, but he hasn’t studied Cap the way I have and he definitely doesn’t have a lot of real-life one-on-one fighting experience. I think most of the stuff he knows came from reading. Trey got it all on tape if you want to see.”

It’s not something Bucky actually wants to see, but Rob looks so proud and eager to show him. 

“Sure, yeah, is it online?”

“Yep! It’s on YouTube!” Rob says.

He pulls it up on his phone and the video says it already has 436 views. That’s pretty good for a cosplay video that’s only been up for a few hours. Bucky vaguely wonders if these are the same people who flood Rob’s Captain America fansite. 

True to Rob’s word, he’s wearing a cheap-looking blue cowl with the letter ‘A’ in the center, and he’s pinning down a guy who is slightly smaller with some sort of cradle maneuver. 

“You look like a pro,” Bucky offers. “That was a sweet hold.”

Rob rolls his eyes. “C’mon. You’ve seen me do that before. That’s my signature move. Remember the Avengers’ Cosplay demonstration at Comic-Con?”

“Oh right.” Like Bucky could ever forget Rob winning first place for his Captain America at the DC Comic-Con Avengers’ costume contest and an honorable mention for overall cosplay. Rob still insists his team should have won first place because “hand to hand combat is a lot harder than shooting fake repulsor beams or arrows,” but personally Bucky enjoyed the Iron Man and Hawkeye cosplay much more. 

“Nice,” Bucky murmurs, hoping the affirmation will put an end to it.

It works. Rob snatches his phone back and gives Bucky a quick kiss on the cheek. Bucky can smell just how hard Rob fought to keep his title. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower, then get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Bucky asks.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” There’s a deep crease in Rob’s brow and it’s growing deeper, which means Bucky fucked up. He just doesn’t know how. 

“Uh...” Bucky racks his brain. There was nothing in his calendar for today. He checked when they scheduled the next writing group meeting.

Rob throws his head back and groans loudly. “I’m covering the Avengers Live show at The Anthem tonight.”

“Shit!” Bucky clenches his eyes shut. 

“It’s my first national press gig!” Rob says in disbelief. “I’m one of only two independent podcasts invited. Dammit, Bucky, you’re my plus one. I’ve only been planning this for _months._ ”

Bucky pinches the top of his nose and curses. Of course, he knew this thing was coming up, but he thought it was later in the month. 

“There’s an after-party with high profile guests,” Rob continues with a slight whine that sets Bucky’s teeth on edge. “And they’re putting us up in a nice hotel....how could you forget?”

Bucky feels himself shrinking. “I’m, sorry. You haven’t mentioned it in a while.”

Rob huffs. “Because I thought you put in on your calendar, like an adult.”

A retort about adults cosplaying superheroes to fight fake battles on Bucky's tongue, but that would be unfair. Comic-con is where he and Rob met, after all. So he bites the inside of his mouth and tries to remain calm. 

“Do you even want to go?” Rob asks, folding his arms over his chest like he already knows the answer.

It’d be easy to say ‘yes’ and prove Rob wrong but that would be a lie. And Bucky’s getting tired of saying things just to appease his boyfriend.

“I’m here to support you,” Bucky says instead because that is true.

Rob throws up his hands. “Jesus, all you had to do was say you weren’t interested. I could have made other arrangements. Now I have to scramble to find a friend who is available.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky says, standing up. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“No!” Rob says so sharply it makes Bucky flinch. “Look, we both know you hate this shit.”

“I don’t _hate_ it,” Bucky protests. “We met at an Avengers table!”

Rob scoffs. “Yeah, but you’ve always been a casual. This event is for serious fans.” It’s that snooty tone he uses when he’s talking about ‘fake fans.’ 

It needles Bucky in the worst way, making his entire body clench up.

“You’re right,” Bucky says with a tight smile. “I don’t have Steve Rogers’ boot size or Tony Stark’s favorite song memorized. I’m sure the deeper nuances of Avenger fanlore will be lost on me.”

Rob purses his lips, his eyes full of disappointment. “I was just hoping for once, we could do something fun together, something I care a lot about. But maybe we should just stay in our own lanes. We don’t have to do everything together.”

“We don’t do anything together anymore,” Bucky murmurs.

“No shit!” Rob snaps. “Which is why I invited you.”

Bucky swallows, unable to articulate his frustration that _this_ is the only thing they really ever talk about now. 

“Anyway, I don’t have time for this. I’m gonna call Ethan or Liam. Hopefully one of them is available. Just… go back to your writing or whatever it is you do.”

Bucky stares after him, watching as he stomps off to his Cap-cave and shuts the door. He sits frozen in a strange state of discomfort as Rob turns on the shower across the hall. When Rob reemerges and comes back into the room to pack an overnight bag, Bucky doesn’t move, he just sits there and watches. It sort of feels like he’s watching himself head towards a car crash in slow motion. 

They’ve put nearly three years of work into this relationship and it’s literally falling apart in front of Bucky's eyes. It was already threadbare, Bucky knows that, but to see it actually unravel as a result of his careless neglect and pulling is a different kind of pain he’s never experienced. 

As awful as it is though, it feels right that it’s come to this. Only Bucky’s not exactly clear what _this_ is now. This fight feels much bigger than a simple argument. Rob folds and packs his clothing with unusual focus and when he’s done, he rolls his overnight bag out of the room. The jiggle of house keys is faint, and then the door creaks open and clicks shut. No ‘goodbye,’ or ‘I’ll call you’ or ‘see you later.’ 

Bucky exhales slowly, thawing out of his catatonic state. He folds over, his head in his hands. 

The apartment is too quiet. He has the place to himself again, but now instead of blessed peace for writing, it feels like punishment. After a year of discussing his writing habits, quirks, and hang-ups with his writing group, Bucky knows he writes best when he’s either super content or super sad. Right now he’s conflicted, full of guilt, and frustrated. It’s the perfect cocktail for writer’s block. 

So he pushes his laptop aside, resigned to a night of junk television and junk food, preferably pizza, flaming hot Cheetos, with a side of Dr. Pepper.

He’s on his fourth _Kitchen Nightmares_ episode and has just broken into a six-pack of chocolate-iced Krispy Kreme donuts when his phone pings. It’s a new message notification from the website.

Playing head games with a catfish troll is the perfect diversion to keep Bucky from thinking about why he’s gorging himself on Krispy Kremes. 

He stumbles back to his bedroom, picks up his laptop and power cord, and makes his way back to the living room. 

“Oooo, two messages in one day?” Bucky murmurs, looking at his inbox. “Whatcha up to, Stevie? More trick questions?” 

_John,_

_I apologize for accusing you of having a fake name. It’s hard to tell who’s honest on the internet. I guess I’ve learned to be more cynical nowadays. It’s a shame really. I’m not naturally a cynical person. I’m actually more of an optimist. I think that’s why your post really struck a chord with me. Instead of dismissing the videos and thinking the worst, you saw the silver lining and embraced the good. I like that. That’s how I try to live._

_Do you really believe CA fans are the most patriotic and clean cut or was that sarcasm? I hope it was sarcasm because in my experience, hardcore CA fans tend to lean towards being alt-right hatemongers. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve grown to dislike the CA image. Too much virtue signaling for bigots all in the name of patriotism and “good old fashioned American values”. If you can’t tell already, I’m pretty liberal. One of the reasons I embraced CA originally is because he was supposed to stand for democracy and fight for those who can’t. Over time though, CA has become a symbol for, well, all the shit I don’t like._

_Anyway, I know I’m rambling here. I don’t want to get on my soapbox and scare you away if I haven’t already :) I said all of that to say I agree with you. It’s actually refreshing to talk to someone who doesn’t fawn all over CA. I also really respect people who try to be fair and weigh the available facts against hearsay and popular opinion. I wish more people were like that._

_I’m not into conspiracy theories either. Most of them are absurd. I blame SHIELD for a lot of it though. They were supposed to protect our country, but they allowed Hydra in and it destroyed the public’s trust and sense of safety. I understand why people are a little paranoid. I know it’s silly to be bitter about a government agency lying to the public. But I am. Call me an idealistic fool._

_I guess I’ll close here. I can’t believe I wrote all of this. I hope you’re not getting sick of the back and forth. If you are, you don’t have to write back. I won’t care. If we never exchange another email, it’s been really great talking to you._

_-Steve_

Bucky reads it again, a little stunned. This guy is starting to sound less like a troll and more like an honest to god authentic person with common sense and opinions that Bucky agrees with. And that’s… weird as fuck. Why would a guy like this be on Rob’s website? Especially with his disdain for Captain America fan culture and the image, and shit… 

So ‘Steve Rogers’ is not a troll, he didn’t even mention Bucky’s boyfriend or sexual orientation. Surely a CA troll would have jumped on that or at least probed for more information. But he’s most certainly a catfish. There’s no way the guy’s name is Steve Rogers. He didn’t respond to Bucky addressing him as ‘Captain’ though. Does that mean he thinks Bucky believes he could be the real Steve Rogers, or does it mean he just thinks Bucky was being funny?

Still baffled, Bucky clicks on the second message, unsure what to expect.

_John,_

_I actually do care if you write back. I’m sorry I lied before, it’s something I don’t usually do, but I was worried about scaring you off. I would really like to talk to you more. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and honestly, I could use a few more friends. I know you are dating someone, so I hope this doesn’t cross a line. If it won’t cause any problems, I would love to be friends if that’s something you’re interested in._

_If you aren’t, I completely understand. I’m a random stranger on the internet, after all. But our last few exchanges have really made me think and smile._

_-Steve_

Squinting in disbelief, Bucky leans in and rereads the message. Who the hell is this guy? Bucky has a great bullshit meter and it’s not even buzzing. His head is though. This Steve Rogers person, whoever they really are, sounds like a genuinely decent person.

It’s a nice little development in the stale rerun sitcom that is Bucky’s life. Still, he reminds himself to temper his excitement. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends. He does. It’s important not to get too invested too quickly over a few messages. This ‘Steve’ guy may be real, but Bucky still doesn’t know anything about him. He has to remain cautious, even if he’s intrigued. 

He cracks his knuckles before typing back. 

_Steve,_

_I enjoy our exchanges as well and I would like to keep it going. You seem like a decent guy. Which honestly, is surprising. I actually thought you were a troll trying to start shit. I guess I’m cynical too._

_I have to be honest too though, I’ve never “met” anyone through a fan site before. Not sure where to go from here. Where are you from? And what do you get into when you’re not browsing CA fansites for shitty entertainment?_

_-John_

He quickly hits send before he can overthink it, and closes out of his email altogether. With a new pep in his step, Bucky turns off the TV, puts away the Krispy Kremes, and sets up to resume working on his new story.


	4. Things Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, we're posting this chapter a little early because it's the longest chapter in the story (over 10K). Next chapter will post on Tuesday. We really appreciate all of the love. It's fun reading your reactions. Have a happy and safe Halloween!

Bucky does not expect another message tonight, so he gets lost in his writing. A few thousand words later he hits a brick wall. His priest is at a crossroads, facing a decision between devotion to god that includes a life of celibacy or taking a chance on love. 

No amount of denial will allow Bucky to dismiss why he’s stuck at this particular point of the story. Perhaps it’s time to go back to therapy. But thinking about therapy means thinking about real stuff and real stuff gives Bucky the kind of anxiety reflective listening and Zoloft can’t fix. 

He closes out the document to surf the internet, searching for a distraction. It leads him to a site dedicated to priests who risked it all and fell in love. Apparently it’s a _thing_ with a long sordid history. There’s even art. Loads of it. A lot of it is homoerotic and on display at the Vatican. Suddenly Bucky’s thinking of Christine and her offer. He fishes in his wallet for her contact information. 

Christine’s website is polished and professional. She has an impressive body of work using pencil, charcoal, and watercolor. The subject matter varies wildly from cartoons to real-life people. Her superhero and cartoon work is mostly lighthearted, bordering on parody, some are satiric. Bucky chuckles at a watercolor drawing of Sam Wilson using his shield as a boomerang to take down an alien monster and a racist cop with one throw. 

There are darker pieces too, like the charcoal depiction of a mother staring down at her disembodied womb with a baby Hydra inside. That one in particular makes Bucky shudder.

The amazing range and depth of talent on display piques Bucky’s curiosity, leading him down a Google rabbit hole in search of information about Christine's life. Unfortunately, everything he finds is carefully curated around her art. Even her Facebook page is professional. 

Restless, Bucky goes to Instagram to search for more scandalous priest art, instead, he finds a new post from one of his friends that nearly makes him choke on his tea. 

It's a meme that starts out with a stock photo of a very clean cut Steve Rogers suited up in his Captain America uniform. One hand is on his hip while the other points at the viewer. Above his head, a caption reads “When Uncle Sam Is Watching” before cutting to the dressing room door from the secret footage. Behind the closed door, Rogers can be clearly heard cursing a string of expletives. Another caption appears--“When Uncle Sam Leaves the Room.”

Closing out of IG, Bucky switches to Twitter, where the videos have gone viral and Steve Rogers is trending at #1. There are dozens of tweets from every major news site and the most scandalous sound bites from the footage are playing on loop. 

Bucky is overcome by a strange mix of guilt and protectiveness. He did nothing to discourage Rob from posting that footage. Of course, Rob doesn’t care because he believes the videos are fake. But there’s no way a crappy awkward actor could have faked all of that. Whether the tapes are fake or not, they perpetuate a gross violation of privacy and now they are being shared for the entire world to judge. 

It’s not the distraction Bucky was looking for, but he needs to know how bad it is. He clicks on the worst of the worst --TMZ. 

SECRET VIDEO REVEALS FORMER CAPTAIN AMERICA STEVE ROGERS IS A POTTY MOUTH WHO HATES SHIELD 

Bucky skims the article, surprised to find that it’s mostly accurate. Of course, TMZ focuses on the most profane parts of the videos. Many of the other news sites post similar takes, some of them directly copying what TMZ posted word for word. 

At least the think pieces offer a different perspective.

Bucky is reading an Op-Ed about how videos represent the disingenuity of the American government when his phone buzzes. It’s Becca.

“Hey you,” he answers.

“Took you long enough,” she teases. “You busy?”

“Nope. Just fucking around on the internet,” Bucky confesses.

“So I guess you know then?”

“Know what?”

Becca huffs. “About Steve Rogers?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, even though Becca can’t see it. “Yeah. I know _all_ about that.”

“Of course you do. I bet Rob has the inside scoop,” Bucky can practically hear Becca’s frown. 

“Not really,” Bucky sighs. “But we sorta had a fight about it.”

“No way!” Becca sounds too gleeful. “Did you guys break up?”

“No?” Bucky says hesitantly. “But we’re definitely having problems.”

There’s shuffling and the sound of drawers opening on Becca’s end. “Well, you can tell me all about it in about an hour. I’m coming over.”

Bucky frowns. “Wait. It’s Saturday night. You _always_ have a date.”

“Ugh,” Becca groans. “Not tonight. You know that asshat I was seeing?”

Bucky snorts. “Which one? You see a lot of asshats.”

“Hardy har har,” Becca huffs. “This particular asshat’s name is Jeremy. Bucky, you would not believe what he did.”

That makes Bucky sit up in his chair. “Was it something worthy of securing a large pizza and ice cream or should I pay Jeremy a visit?”

“Down boy,” Becca says in exasperation. “This is definitely a large supreme and pint of Chunky Monkey situation.”

Bucky secretly exhales. “Then it’s your lucky day. I just bought a pint of Chunky Monkey yesterday. I’ll put in the order for the pizza now. ”

“No jalapenos this time!”

“You’re such a baby,” Bucky grouses. “I’ll do half and half. I need some spice in my life.”

“Save it. We’ll talk about your tragic sex life when I get there. See you soon.”

They do this often. More than Bucky ever imagined they could. If someone would have told him back in high school that one day he’d be hanging out with his baby sister and trading bad dating stories, Bucky would have laughed his ass off. 

But then both ended up taking jobs in DC, far away from their mother and three other sisters--Allie, Charlotte, and Olivia. They’ve been living in each other’s pockets ever since, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. Bucky doesn’t tell Becca _everything_ , but she knows more about his love life than anyone else. 

And she hates Rob. 

It’s fine. Bucky doesn’t particularly like most of the guys Becca dates either. He’s made peace with it, mostly. 

When Becca arrives they get to the business of destroying the pizza while Becca tells a real-life tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde aka Jeremy the super asshat. By the time she finishes, they are digging into the pint of ice cream Bucky keeps on hand for these occasions. After a bit of goading, it’s Bucky’s turn to talk about his fight with Rob.

“What a drama queen,” Becca says. “I mean I can kinda see why he’d be annoyed about you forgetting, but if it was that important, he should have reminded you earlier. You’re both busy people. And it still doesn’t excuse him acting an asshole. He took it to a place it didn’t have to go.”

Bucky just gives a half-shrug. It always feels weird talking about Rob with someone who dislikes him so much.

“Don’t do that,” Becca says, shoving his good arm. “This wasn’t just some argument. It’s been brewing for a while.”

Bucky looks away, bracing himself for one of Becca’s ‘Rob rants.’ He always feels like shit afterward, like he’s being disloyal in his silence, but also stupid for staying. Yes, he and Rob have problems, but three years is a long time to invest in a relationship, and Bucky isn’t a quitter. 

When he glances back, there’s so much exasperation in Becca’s blue eyes. 

“You’re rationalizing why you should stay.”

Bucky scoffs. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I can see it in your face, Bucky,” she says, throwing up the hand not wrapped around her spoon. “You're trying to come up with reasons to stick it out. You think you two just need to work harder… but you're not happy, and you haven't been for a long time.”

Damn the lump in Bucky’s throat and damn Becca for poking at his fragile defenses. 

“Obviously I’m staying because I think there’s something here worth fighting for,” he defends weakly.

Becca's eyes burn through him. She may be his baby sister, but sometimes Bucky swears he’s looking at their mother. 

“Or you’re just scared.”

Bucky opens his mouth to protest, but Becca doesn't let him get another word out. 

“When you came out of the service, Rob was right there. You didn't even date around, you just fell into a relationship.”

“We had chemistry, it felt right.” 

It’s a justification he’s repeated often in his head, especially in the past year. 

Becca nods patiently. “Yeah, but three years later, does it still feel right?”

Bucky closes his eyes and sighs.

“Listen, I know it’s scary to think about breaking up with someone you’ve been with for years. It means finding a new place, developing a new routine, being on your own.”

“I’m not some kid out of high school. I can handle living on my own,” Bucky snaps.

Becca narrows her eyes. “Of course you can. You’re one of the bravest people I know. I just hope _you_ remember that.”

Defensive anger and annoyance are no match for Becca’s unwavering dedication to his well-being. Bucky’s frown disintegrates as he looks at the concern written on his sister’s face. 

“Come here,” she says, pulling on his good arm to engulf him in a tight embrace.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Bucky says stubbornly.

“What? _I_ need a hug after dealing with Jeremy,” she says into his shoulder.

Bucky squeezes her tighter and they stay like that for a few more moments before she’s pushing him away.

“OK, enough with the sappy stuff,” she says with a knowing smirk. 

Bucky smirks, grateful for her attempt at shifting the mood.

She takes a large scoop of ice cream and slurps it down like the pig she is. Bucky grins and points at the ring of ice cream it leaves around her mouth. 

“Such a lady.”

“Screw being a lady, this is Chunky Monkey and I refuse to eat it politely.” 

Bucky shakes his head and digs in as well.

“So…” Becca says before scarfing down another large spoonful. 

Bucky raises one eyebrow in question. 

“Did any of the other Cap weirdos give you hell about your post?” 

Bucky shakes his head.“Nah, actually the opposite. Someone sent me a private message saying they agreed with me.”

“You got a DM? Interesting…” She wags her eyebrows.

Bucky huffs. “It was just some guy who liked what I wrote.”

“Hmm, some _guy_?” Becca draws out the last word needlessly, twisting it into sordid innuendo. 

Bucky grimaces. “Get your mind out of the gutter. It was a straightforward compliment about my post, nothing more. It’s not a dating site. Besides, I would never cheat on Rob. You know that.”

Her shoulders sag a little as she nods. “Yeah, not your style. Still, it’s kinda cool he reached out to you. Did you reply back?”

Bucky sticks his spoon in the pint and stands up to take the pizza box to the trash can. “Uh, yeah. We’re kinda messaging back and forth now.”

“Oh my god, you have a pen pal!”

“It's just a few messages through the site. He doesn’t even have my email address,” Bucky mutters, trying for nonchalance. 

“A few messages, huh?” Bucky nearly groans at the knowing grin in her voice. “What’s this guy’s name?”

“He calls himself ‘Steve Rogers,’ so I really don’t really know.”

Becca snorts. “I bet half the people on that site have Steve Rogers in their screen name.”

Bucky turns around, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the fridge.

“What?” Becca asks.

“Nothing, it’s just…” Bucky pauses as he considers her point. It’s scratching the surface of what’s been bothering him about Steve. “His screen name is ‘Nobody2014.’ He told me his name is Steve Rogers later, in a message.” 

Becca’s eyebrows are halfway up her forehead. “That’s crazy. He’s probably one of those die-hard Cap wackos or... holy shit, Bucky! What if it’s the real Steve Rogers?”

Bucky rolls his eyes extra hard. “Don’t even start. The odds of that are like a million to one. I have a better chance of being struck by lightning.”

“Hey, weirder things have happened,” Becca says. “I mean Alexander Pierce hid in plain sight for years.”

Bucky bristles. “I hope you’re not trying to imply Rogers was Hydra, you know how I feel about that. It’s more likely this guy is just a Cap fan who happens to agree with my views. I bet he just thinks it’s funny to call himself Steve Rogers. It’s not that deep.”

“If you say so,” Becca looks skeptical. “Just be careful. I’m not saying Rogers is Hydra, he was cleared, but I still think it’s weird how he just up and vanished into thin air. If he wanted to disguise himself by posing as a Cap fanboy, it wouldn’t be hard.”

“And why would he do that?”

Becca shrugs. “Maybe he’s a narcissist who likes to see people fawn over him, or he could be bored and trying to relive his glory days. Who knows?”

“That’s some imagination you got there,” Bucky teases. 

Becca gives him an unimpressed glare. “Fine, it’s probably not him, but even you have to admit a guy calling himself Steve Rogers is probably detached from reality. Don’t share too much personal information.”

“OK, Mom,” Bucky says dryly. “I promise not to give out my real name, social security number, and address to strange men I meet on the internet.”

“You’re such a dick,” Becca complains.

Bucky snatches the entire pint away from her just to prove her right. 

“Hey!”

They binge-watch _Star Trek: Discovery_ while Becca massages Bucky’s bad arm. It always aches after a long day of writing. Bucky would gladly trade his PT for Becca because she doesn’t lecture him or feed him useless platitudes about patience and recovery. Plus, Becca has magic fingers that mysteriously work out the knots that always form around the scar tissue left by the shrapnel. The best part is the way her massages taper off into soft caresses. She always traces his grayscale tattoo sleeve of angels until he’s on the edge of sleep.

By the time Becca says she has to leave, Bucky is droopy-eyed and relaxed. She never accepts his invitation to stay over because she says their couch sucks. 

Bucky gives her a long hug, hoping she can feel his gratitude. Becca’s eyes are soft and understanding when she finally pulls back and says good night. 

It’s pretty damn late, nearly 1 am. Bucky checks his phone and bites back a smile. He has one message notification from the CA site.

Moving quickly to the bedroom to retrieve his laptop, Bucky is acutely aware of his excitement. It’s silly. If he and ‘Steve’ are gonna be pen pals or whatever, Bucky has to chill out. Surely this is a sign he needs to get out of the house and spend more time with his friends. 

Even with all of these rationalizations, Bucky can’t help the grin growing on his face as he reads Steve’s latest message.

_John,_

_I don't really get into much. In another life, I probably would have enjoyed camping and going out on the water, maybe canoeing or kayaking, but after years of camping and sailing in less than ideal conditions, I’ve lost my appetite for the great outdoors._

_Mostly I stay in and illustrate. I’m an artist. So I really enjoy creating art. When I’m not doing that, I like reading and watching TV. I’m sure that probably sounds boring to you, but I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime._

_I actually didn’t register for the CA site for shitty entertainment. Don’t get me wrong, it has provided a lot of that, lol. The moderator Dr. Rob is so... passionate :) But to a fault. I think he’s blinded by his idol worship. It’s interesting to listen to the mythos he’s bought into as well as the one he’s creating. I hardly recognize the CA he’s talking about._

_Honestly, I signed up out of pure curiosity. I wanted to see what fans of the original CA were saying about Sam Wilson. I really like the direction Sam is taking the role and what he’s trying to accomplish. Maybe it’s me being overly optimistic, but I was hoping to find more discussion on that site about him. So far, I’ve only found one thread, and it's filled with a lot of negative and racist comments. I reported all of the racist posts to the site administrator, who I suspect is Dr. Rob, but he only removed the most inflammatory ones and left the rest up. I get the feeling he agrees with most of it anyway. He doesn’t seem to be a fan of Sam, at least that’s what I’ve gathered from the little he’s said about him. It’s a shame really. Instead of romanticizing nostalgia for someone no longer there, he could be using his platform to talk about the man currently holding the shield. Sam is out there doing something real and good and he should get a lot more credit and support._

_Wow, I didn’t mean to write that much, I swear! I’ll get off my soapbox now. lol. I’m very tempted to cut a lot of this so you won’t think I’m some kind of a self-righteous asshole but if we’re gonna be pals, you should probably get used to my rants. If it ever gets on your nerves, or you flat out disagree with anything I say, please be honest and let me know. We don’t have to agree on everything but I won’t hold my tongue when it comes to what I think is right._

_So what do **you** do when you’re not cruising message boards for shitty entertainment ;p_

_-Steve_

Bucky reads the message a couple of times, trying to read between the lines. There’s stuff here that Steve isn’t saying, only hinting at, and Bucky is not sure why. The second part of Steve’s message stirs up a lot of emotions. Bucky has so much to say about all of that, but it’s nearly 2 am. He doesn’t want to look like a maniac who doesn’t sleep and sits up waiting up for messages from strangers. 

But he is excited, so he types out a reply and saves the draft to send tomorrow. 

Bucky shuts his laptop down and gets ready for bed. After taking a long hot shower, he checks his phone. There’s one text from Becca saying she made it home. 

He scrolls down his contacts list, taking note of all of the people he doesn’t speak to regularly. The last texts from his friends are nearly three weeks old. He resolves to send John and Davey a group text tomorrow. Even new fathers and engaged people need to come up for air and beer. Perhaps they can all go out for a game of pool soon. 

Bucky puts his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and places it face down on the far side of his nightstand to shut down any temptation to check his private message inbox again or look up more tweets about the Captain America video clips. 

But when he lays down, he finds sleep elusive, and his mind continues to race with thoughts about Rob, his conversation with Becca and… Steve. 

An hour later, he’s still staring up at the ceiling, frustrated with his inability to just turn his brain off. 

Maybe ‘Steve’ is up too. Is he a night owl? There’s really only one way to find out. It may come off as weird sending a message at this hour, but as Steve said, if they’re going to be friends, it’s important to really get to know each other, weird quirks and all.

_Hey Steve,_

_Not sure if you’re up, but I am. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping. As you can see from the timestamp, it’s 2:13 am here. I just realized I don’t really even know where you are. You could be in a completely different time zone, maybe it’s tomorrow over there?_

_I think it’s so cool you’re an artist. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I like to write though. I write a lot in my free time. I’m working on a story now, as a matter of fact. I like to read too. Talk about boring. But that’s me. I vehemently deny cruising CA fan sites for shitty entertainment. I swear that was a one off._

_What kind of art do you make? I sorta have a new friend who does art too. She did a kickass drawing of Sam Wilson I think you would appreciate._

_Speaking of which, don’t ever apologize for getting on your soapbox. I really enjoyed your rant. I’m a Sam Wilson fan too. I think he gets a lot of hate because he doesn’t have a miracle serum, but that doesn’t explain all of it. People don’t like to admit it but they want their heroes to be white and Steve Rogers is like the embodiment of Aryan perfection. Which is kinda ironic considering his reason for volunteering for the serum. I got a whole lot to say about that, if you ever want to hear me get on my soapbox :D Anyway, I said all of that to support your rant. Feel free to rant away. lol. All of the scrutiny Wilson deals with every time he so much as sneezes pisses me off and it’s good to find a fellow fan of his._

_Now here’s the hard part. This might change your opinion of me for the worst, but I want to be upfront with you. Dr. Rob, the site moderator and podcast host, is my boyfriend. I’m telling you this because I didn’t want you to find out later and think I was being shady. I also don’t want you to think that just because I’m dating him that means I agree with everything he says and does. Especially when it comes to Steve Rogers and CA. It’s one of the reasons we aren’t doing that great right now. That’s probably TMI since you barely know me, but it’s true. I didn’t know about the racist threads on the site. I’ll be sure to follow up with him about that._

_If you’re not completely weirded out at this point and still reading, I hope that means you still want to talk._

_I noticed you said you camped and sailed in less than ideal conditions. That sounds like military talk to me. Which branch did you serve in? Don't tell me…. Army right? ;)_

Bucky pauses, recalling his conversation with Becca. He’s half-tempted to outright ask if ‘Steve’ claims to be the Steve Rogers. Bucky already knows the answer though. Whoever this guy is, there’s no way in hell he’s the former Captain America. What he could be is a raging lunatic or a regular guy using the alias as an obvious tongue-in-cheek joke. Either way, asking that question will only make things awkward, and this pen pal thing is supposed to be laid back and easy, maybe even fun. It’s best to keep the tone casual. 

_No seriously, which branch? I served in the Army myself, but I think I would still love camping. My family used to do it every summer. Just thinking about it is relaxing. I think I’m finally ready to go sleep now._

__

__

_I guess I’ll log off here. Have a good night, or morning, or… eh, talk to you later;)_

_-John_

Bucky shuts everything down and slips back into bed, feeling more settled, he quickly drifts into sleep.

The following morning he wakes up well-rested. Sunday mornings are the best. There’s nowhere to be and no one is expecting anything of him.

Rob isn’t due home until later this evening, which is bound to be a shitshow, but until then Bucky has the entire day to write. 

Stretching his left arm, he gasps as pain shoots down his shoulder. His PT says he has to be patient and kind to himself. He will never recover the full range of motion-- the shrapnel did a number on him-- but with exercise, one day there will be less pain and more flexibility. 

Sometimes Bucky stretches too hard or holds the position too long until it clears his mind. The pain makes him feel a little more alive. He eventually lets go and rolls over to retrieve his phone. It’s a long reach and he nearly brains himself on the corner of his nightstand trying to get his fingers on it. He snorts at himself in amusement even as he continues to try.

Finally, he manages to get his hand on it. The screen says it’s 11:10 am and there is a notification from the CA site.

Sinking back against his pillow, Bucky pulls up the site to check messages. 

The first message is meaty, there’s a lot of text. Bucky smiles at the 2:34 am timestamp. Apparently, there’s no need to be self-conscious about appearing too eager with this guy. He’s unabashedly responsive, which is refreshing.

_Hi John,_

_Thank you for saying that. I’m glad you don’t mind my rant. It’s always nice to meet a fellow Sam Wilson fan._

_I also appreciate your honesty and I want to be honest with you too. I probably would have never made those comments about the site or the host if I had known Dr. Rob was your boyfriend. I really hope I did not offend you or make you feel uncomfortable. I’m actually embarrassed and ashamed of my behavior._

Bucky pauses, confused at the word choice. What would Steve have to be ashamed about?

_I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I re-read all of your messages and I can see now that you use sarcasm a lot. I didn’t catch it at first but your last jab about me being in the Army made me realize that you obviously think that either I am pretending to be Steve Rogers or that I am using the name as some sort of alias._

_Neither is true. My real name is Steven Grant Rogers, but I’ve always gone by Steve Rogers and I was born in 1918. I did serve in the Army -- as Captain America. This is not a joke or a lie._

Bucky’s heart sinks as he reads that paragraph again and again. Steve seems so genuine and nice, and with their shared perspective on things, there was potential for some kind of friendship. Unfortunately, it appears he’s also delusional. 

Bucky swallows, almost afraid to read on. 

_I know what you must be thinking but I’m not crazy. I can verify my identity but I guess that would depend on whether you still want to stay in touch. I’ll understand if you don’t. I know how this must look and how strange it must seem to you. I wouldn’t blame you for being skeptical._

_Whether you believe me or not, your boyfriend is obviously a big CA fan, and here I am shitting on his efforts to show his appreciation. I hope you don’t think less of me because of that. I can’t really apologize because everything I said I really meant. But I also don’t want to come across as arrogant or ungrateful._

_At any rate, it’s always nice to run into a fellow soldier. How long were you in the service? Where did you serve? How long have you been out? I hope my questions aren’t overwhelming. I know some fellas don’t care too much for talking about it._

_Of course, you know all about my service record. But if you ever want to ask questions or just talk about it, I’m OK with that. I actually don’t get to talk about that part of my life at all, so it would be nice._

_I’m surprised you still like camping. Maybe I’m thinking about it all wrong. Sometimes I want to get away, find someplace peaceful near the water, but then I remember being in a trench and it sours the entire fantasy._

_Is that why you have trouble sleeping? I don’t get much sleep either, as you can tell._

_I’m on the east coast, by the way. If you were writing me at 2 am, then we’re in the same time zone._

_I draw different things, but my specialty is comic books. I also do freelance work, commissions too._

_Well, I guess this message has gone on long enough. I really hope I didn’t scare you off and that you give me a chance. I hope you were able to get a good night’s rest and have a relaxing Sunday._

_Talk to you later?_

_-Steve_

Bucky re-reads it, trying to find other hints of madness or signs that this is an elaborate joke. There are none. 

Apparently, this guy really believes he’s the original Captain America. But that’s not possible because…. 

No. Nope. Bucky’s not even going to entertain that idea. ‘Steve’ is either clinically delusional or he’s catfishing on a level worthy of a reality show, which means he probably has other deep-seated issues. 

It’s a real bummer. Bucky finally meets someone he can commiserate with about the CA fandom and it turns out that person believes he’s a dead superhero. 

Bucky stares at the cursor hovering over the ‘delete’ symbol as he considers what to do. It would be best to shut this down now. Beginning a friendship with someone this disconnected from reality probably won’t end well. 

But Bucky still has a nagging curiosity to know more about the man behind the alias. There’s someone of substance there, Bucky has already seen evidence of that, and frankly, the mystery of finding out who this guy really is exciting. 

So he hits ‘Reply’.

_Steve,_

_Wow, I was not expecting that! I have to say, you’re right, it is very hard to believe. If you really are THE Steve Rogers, why would you admit that to a perfect stranger? Especially one you met on a CA site? You know how rabid the people on this site are. I could be a real dick and blow your cover. Not that I would do something like that but isn’t that too risky?_

_I’ll address the rest of your message once you answer that question._

_-John_

Bucky sends it before he can overthink his words and tone. He rolls out of bed to take a piss and make a cup of tea.

Twenty minutes later he’s taking sips of lemon-infused black tea with cinnamon while trying to decide between waffles and pancakes. The notification chime on his phone pings.

“That was fast,” he murmurs.

Dread and intrigue collide as Bucky pulls up the CA site. He braces himself for nastiness and opens his messages.

_John,_

_Good question. I honestly don’t have a great answer, just truth. Trying to stay out of the public eye has been lonely. It’s rare I get to connect with like-minded people that I feel comfortable expressing myself to. Yes, you’re a stranger, but your post and your responses reveal your character more than you realize. I like you. It’s that simple. Of course, that’s just a first impression, and you could in fact be, as you say, a dick._

_If you are, there’s no risk here. I disappear. I’m good at it. Any more questions?_

_-Steve_

Bucky covers his smile with his hand as he reads it again. There’s no hint of defensiveness or anger. If ‘Steve’ is delusional, his delusions make a lot of sense. And he’s a smartass, which is an attribute Bucky looks for in his friends.

He considers some new questions for ‘Steve’ as he retrieves blueberries from the fridge for his pancakes.

After breakfast, Bucky sets up his writing station at the kitchen table, where he can easily access tea and snacks. He decides to skip over the big plot impasse and focus on the priest’s first kiss.

A few hundred words in, his mind starts to wander. Is Steve waiting for him to reply back? 

Bucky reads through Steve’s last message once more before responding.

_Steve,_

_Sounds legit. I think I told you this before, but I thought you were dead. It’s pretty incredible to suddenly discover you’re not only still alive but cruising CA fansites lol. I’m not making fun of you, well maybe a little :p. Seriously, I don’t think you should feel embarrassed or ashamed of what you wrote to me. I don’t think that makes you arrogant or ungrateful, just concerned about how people are using your name and image. I respect that a lot and I agree with everything you said._

_Since you offered, I do have a few more questions. I know it’s probably super top secret, but where did you go after the helicarriers fell? Were you injured? Wilson said you passed the shield to him, but when did you do that exactly?_

_And it’s cool to know we’re both on the east coast. I guess it really is a small world :)_

_-John_

Bucky knows he’s still needling at something fragile to get some sort of reaction that will confirm his suspicions. ‘Steve’ could quickly tire of playing this game and end communication, but Bucky can’t help himself. The way ‘Steve’ answers these questions will determine if he wants to continue to engage with this guy. 

He keeps the private message tab of the CA site tab open and dives back into his story. 

A half an hour later another ping chimes. He shakes his head. This could become very distracting. Against his better judgement, Bucky switches over to the CA site and pulls up his private message inbox again.

_John,_

_I guess if you thought I was dead, I’m doing a pretty decent job of hiding. I’m happy to disappoint you in that regard :)_

_I can’t tell if your questions are serious or if you’re just trying to get a rise out of me because you think I’m some delusional person you met on the internet. I guess I just have to take your words at face value and assume you’re being genuine._

_Yes, I was injured but not critically. I passed the shield to Sam in the hospital, right before I left. It’s infuriating how many people doubt his account of that. There are even some conspiracy nuts who think Sam somehow he had me killed so he could steal it. It’s ridiculous._

_And you’re right, I can’t disclose my location but I do think it’s neat we’re on the same time. I also think it’s ironic that you’re giving me shit about cruising a CA fansite when that’s how I found your post. Pot meet kettle. ;)_

_So what are you getting into today? Plan to make any more CA posts?:D_

_Oh and don’t think I haven’t noticed you still have not answered any of **my** questions yet. I believe a wise man once said the key to friendship is reciprocity ;)_

_-Steve_

Bucky bites back a grin. Not only is this guy smart, but he’s perceptive. OK, so he was being a little shit. Steve’s answers are perfectly reasonable and even if he’s not the real Steve Rogers, he’s enjoying their exchanges. Reciprocity it is.

_Steve,_

_Touché. I guess people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, but for the record, I only signed up for that site to make that post. I have no intention of making any more posts or even browsing there again._

_I read an interesting OpEd today about the symbolism of CA and its ties to nationalism and racism. Here’s the link to it in case you’re interested.  
https://www.nytimes.com/behind-the-curtains-of-an-american-facade_

_If you read it, let me know what you think of it._

_To answer your questions, I served in the Army for six years. Did two tours, one in Iraq the other Afghanistan. I’ve been home for a little over three years now. I don’t mind trading war stories. I do have trouble sleeping because of my anxiety. Got a bad spell related to my injury. It’s much better now, but some days are better than others. Insomnia only makes the bad days worse. Do you ever experience anything like that? It’s kinda hard to imagine Captain America struggling with stuff like that because of serum. But who knows, so far you’re full of surprises…_

_Sorry to hear the service ruined camping for you. I think I actually would appreciate camping more now because of my time over there. I’m a city boy and I didn’t really appreciate nature at all until I enlisted. There’s nothing like being under the stars and really listening to everything around you. It’s peaceful. I used to love evening watch duty, most times it was so quiet. I was just mellow out to the sound of the wind. It’s one of the only parts about the service I miss._

_How about you? Do you miss any of it?_

_And dude, I LOVE comic books. You’re living the dream to be able to do that for a living. I’d love to see some of your work sometime. I guess if you’re comfortable, no pressure. I’m into more subversive comics and graphic novels. I dig popular stuff too, but I like anti-heroes and things with darker themes._

_What kind of comics do you illustrate? You don’t have to give names, but I’m curious about genres._

_I don’t have any big plans today. Sundays are my chill days. I’m gonna work on my story and maybe watch a little football. Go Giants :)_

_-John_

Bucky stares at his fake alias for a few moments, considering whether to tell Steve to call him by his nickname. The dissonance between sharing real parts of himself and attaching it to a fake name is unsettling. But perhaps he’s getting ahead of himself. 

He hits ‘Send’ before he overshares, and switches over to his story.

Another hour passes in a flash as he loses himself in his writing. His phone buzzes and he doesn’t even pick it up so caught up in the rhythm of the scene he’s creating. When he does finally break, he has three messages. One is a screenshot of a text message from Becca’s asshat Jeremy begging forgiveness, and the next is a message from Rob saying he’s on his way home and that he’d like to take Bucky out. That one takes Bucky by surprise but he can’t deny he’s relieved. Perhaps things won’t be as awkward and strained as he feared. 

The third message is from Davey, asking what he’s up to and if he wants to catch up soon. Bucky immediately ropes his other friend John into a group text where they go back and forth until they decide to all meet on Thursday for drinks and a game of pool.

Bucky stretches out his legs and decides to take a long hot shower before Rob returns. 

His phone pings with another notification just as he’s drying off. Bucky bites back a smile. Is it normal for pen pals to write this much in one day? He has no frame of reference, but the constant back and forth isn’t wearing on his nerves the way it normally might with someone else. 

He wraps the towel around his waist and leans back against the dresser to check his messages.

_John,_

_No, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to talk about CA or discuss critiques of the image. I think there’s a difference between who I am and what I stood for, and who people think I was and I don’t mind talking about the difference._

_I really enjoyed that OpEd you sent. I agree with most of it. There is definitely a duality when it comes to the symbols and virtues we publicly embrace and what we do in practice. I take issue though with the assertion that the backstage footage of me demonstrates that. The author makes it sound like what I said off camera was completely incongruous with the image I portrayed. Just because I didn’t curse or bad mouth SHIELD in public doesn’t mean I wholeheartedly endorsed or agreed with everything they did or stood for. I wish things were that black and white, but they weren’t. I know I sound a little defensive. Probably because I’m still angry about what happened. Perhaps you’re not the only one who needs therapy ;)_

_I appreciate you sharing your experience with your anxiety and insomnia. I actually struggle with that as well. Not the anxiety, but I don’t sleep much. Because of the serum, I don’t actually need to sleep a lot physically, even if I want to. It’s hard to explain. I don’t get tired very often, but I want more rest. I try to find other ways to relax. Illustrating helps._

_You sound like you really like being outdoors, but I also noticed that you said ‘would’ as if you don’t go but would like to. Am I reading into things or is there a reason why you don’t go if you want to?_

_Go Giants? Does that mean you’re from New York or **in** New York? As you already know, I’m a New Yorker. I like the Giants too, but I’m more of a baseball guy. Go Mets :) Speaking of New York, the way you describe evening watch duty under the stars reminds me of summer nights on the rooftop in Brooklyn. Growing up me and my ma used to sneak up there to stargaze. I still love looking up at the stars and moon. _

_The only thing I miss about serving are the people I served with. They were the best friends I ever had. That was one of the toughest things about coming back. They’re all gone._

_I actually run a webcomic that’s sort of subversive, at least I like to think it is, lol. I enjoy anti-heroes too. I love their complexity. It feels more authentic to me._

_I know I’m running long here. I promise to work on capping my messages lol. Actually, it’s getting a bit cumbersome messaging through the site. How about we cut out of the middle man and exchange emails?_

_-Steve_

Bucky gnaws at his bottom lip, considering Steve’s suggestion. Even if it’s annoying, messaging through the site is safe. Bucky’s last name is in his email so giving out his personal email would be a leap of faith. 

Of course, he could create a new email just to communicate with Steve but that idea bothers him just as much as the fake alias. There’s no point in corresponding back and forth with someone he doesn’t want to trust. Maybe he’s an overly optimistic fool, but Bucky’s gut tells him to stop being paranoid and take a chance.

_Steve,_

_I have so much to say about what you wrote but just thinking about typing it up in this tiny message box makes me tired. Using the site to send messages is definitely getting old, plus I hate giving it more hits. lol. Is that awful of me?_

_OK, so, truth time again. My name isn’t John. I don’t really trust the internet. I had a really bad catfish experience back in high school. They gained my trust to get information to humiliate me in front of the school. So when you first messaged me, I didn’t want to give you any real information about myself._

_I guess we still really don’t know each other, but we’ve already shared some personal stuff and you seem like a decent guy. It’s starting to feel dishonest to keep this going using a fake name._

_So here goes… My name is James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky. You can email me at jbarnes1985@gmail.com. I’ll respond to the rest of your message once I receive your email. I’m trusting you not to be an asshole. Don’t let me down._

_-Bucky_

He quickly hits send before he can talk himself out of it, logs out of the CA site, refreshes the browser, and puts his phone down. 

It’s time to get back to reality. Rob will be home soon and it sounds like he wants to try and smooth things over. 

Bucky gets ready, choosing his favorite pair of dark washed jeans and the periwinkle henley Rob likes because it brings out his eyes. It’s been a while since he primped in the mirror, but he spends some time artfully disheveling his hair with a little gel before dabbing on a bit of the fancy cologne Rob bought him last Christmas.

Perhaps it’s a bit much. He probably should temper his excitement but Bucky and Rob hardly go out anymore, but they’re going out tonight. That has to count for something. Maybe there will even be make-up sex after dinner. He’s not going to hold his breath, but the distant possibility wakes up a part of him he’d all but given up on. 

He’s deciding if he’s going to wear loafers or dress boots when he hears the key turn in the lock and the front door opening. Bucky listens to the drag and thump of Rob’s roller suitcase crossing the threshold.

Usually, Rob calls out to Bucky when he comes home, but he hasn’t yet. As the moments tick by uncomfortably, Bucky realizes things won’t just fall back into place naturally. He takes a deep breath and steps out of the bedroom to greet Rob, tension making his every step stilted. 

Rob looks good. He’s wearing his new “sexy professor” glasses and his hair is freshly cut and styled to look windswept. His designer grey jacket is open, revealing a new vintage Avengers t-shirt with Steve Rogers as Captain America front and center. 

“Hey,” Bucky says a little too cheerfully. 

“Hey,” Rob replies softly, his eyes anxious like perhaps he’s expecting another argument. 

Bucky wants to put that fear to rest. “I’m really sorry,” he blurts out.

The relief in Rob’s face is unmistakable, even as he shakes his head. “No, no. It’s all on me. I totally overreacted; I should have reminded you. This is my thing, not yours. You have other stuff going on. I’m sorry I jumped down your throat.”

Bucky exhales a little. “Let’s just say we both screwed up and forget about it.”

“Yeah, that works for me,” Rob says with a bashful smile. “You hungry? I know it’s kinda early for dinner.”

“No, I’m totally starving,” Bucky says. “Haven’t eaten since, like, 9.” 

“I was thinking we could catch a bite around the corner, so you won’t miss the Giants getting creamed.”

Bucky scoffs but he can’t hide the smile taking over his face. This is the Rob he’s missed. Maybe the fight was good, allowing them to purge the toxin of resentment infecting their relationship over the past year. “You wanna put money on that?”

Rob nods. “Yeah, loser pays for dinner.”

Bucky grins. “You’re on.”

Dinner is great so far. The burgers are nicely flavored, the sweet potato fries are just the right side of crispy the way Bucky likes them, and the Giants are winning. Rob is practically glowing as he recounts his weekend schmoozing with the elites of the fandom podcasting world, and the brief but life-altering appearance of Clint Barton. The chances of having make-up sex are at an all-time high. Bucky soaks up the easy, familiar warmth sitting between them. It’s renewed his hope that their relationship is on the upswing.

The Giants score another touchdown (go Eli!) and in concession to the pending defeat, Rob buys Bucky another beer. He talks animatedly about how the exposure from the Avengers Live show will expand his listening market and his future plans for using it for his research.

“It’s amazing how you’ve been able to integrate your hobby into your work,” Bucky says, truly impressed. “I wish I could find a way for my job to pay me to write novels.”

Rob chuckles. “We both know if they paid you to write novels, you’d end up getting fired.”

Bucky feels his smile tighten. “What?”

“Ah come on,” Rob says. “You know what I mean. You never finish anything you write.”

“I’m gonna finish this one,” Bucky insists, trying to control his scowl.

Rob sighs. “You always say that. Look, I’m not judging. You know I know how hard writing is. It’s a major part of my job. But I also know it takes more than good ideas. Creativity is important, but discipline is everything.”

Bucky eyes fall to the remains of his burger as a storm of frustration and shame replaces his appetite. 

“I can help you if you really want to finish,” Rob says, covering Bucky’s hand. “Maybe I could give you mini-deadlines for submitting sections until you’re done.”

“I’m not one of your students,” Bucky snaps. “And I don’t work like that. I can’t just churn shit out like you do. I have a different process.”

“I know,” Rob says, patting Bucky’s hand. The smile on his face is so damn patronizing, Bucky pulls back his hand to pick up his beer. 

It’s easier to focus on the jumbo television to his right where Gallman is running the ball towards the 10-yard line. He trips and fumbles the ball, the Panthers intercept, and just like that the Giants lose their lead. Bucky takes a huge gulp of beer as the familiar sinking feeling of inevitable disappointment hits him. 

Rob sighs long and loud next to him, which probably means he thinks Bucky’s being a brat. At 35, Rob is only two years older than Bucky, but in moments like this, he acts like he’s so much more mature. 

“Bucky…”

Bucky turns his head and his eyes go wide. Rob has two huge french fries sticking out of his nose

“What the hell?”

It’s so silly and bizarre, so unlike Rob. Surprised laughter bubbles out of Bucky and infects Rob. Soon they are bowled over the table, trying to reign in their ridiculous laughter. By the time they get control of it, Bucky is breathless with tears in his eyes.

“OK weirdo, explain yourself,” he says, still chuckling. 

Rob raises his chin, looking proud. “You were pouting and now you’re not. You know I hate it when you pout.”

Bucky sighs, his amusement quickly dissipating. “Sorry. I... I mean, we just keep--”

“I know,” Rob cuts him off. “It’s bothering me too. But we’ve been together for a while and we’re way past the honeymoon phase. This is life. Relationships have highs and lows. We’re just on a low. It’ll work itself out.”

He slides his foot along Bucky’s underneath the table and gives an encouraging smile. Bucky nods in acknowledgment as another flicker of hope ignites. It’s not as strong as before but it’s still there, stubbornly burning and ready to flare. 

“I don’t think it will work itself out,” Bucky says, his voice shakier than he expected. It sounds strange to his own ears. “ _We_ have to work on it, both of us.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Rob asks, his expression open and sincere.

Bucky shrugs as he mentally files through a dozen unspoken complaints. Voicing most of them will only make things worse, so he throws out the least offensive one. “How about talking more, and not just about our hobbies. We used to talk about everything and nothing. I miss that.”

Rob nods. “Yeah… you’re right. We really don’t talk much anymore. Shit, this whole conversation has been about me, hasn’t it?”

Bucky smirks ruefully.

Rob runs his hand over his face, his eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry. When I get excited my mouth just runs away from me. So talk to me, what did you get up to this weekend?”

It’s not where Bucky expected the conversation to go, and now that Rob has given him the floor, he feels under-prepared. He combs his hand through his hair, slightly embarrassed about how boring his weekend will sound compared to Rob’s. 

“Not much really, uh, I did a lot of writing and I went to my writing group. That was pretty good. Had brunch at _Vegz_. Great pancakes,” he says, cringing internally. When did making simple conversation become so difficult?

“Oh, I like that place,” Rob says. “We should go there next time we go out.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, we should. One of their waitresses offered to illustrate my story.”

“No way! That’s so… random,” Rob says in bemusement. “And cool. Really cool.”

Bucky beams proudly. “Yeah, it’s actually motivating me to write more. Her art is so good.”

Rob rubs his chin. “Maybe this is the universe’s way of giving you a nudge.”

Bucky shrugs, even though the idea has crossed his mind. “Maybe. Also… this is gonna sound crazy, but don’t laugh.”

“What?” Rob leans in.

Bucky leans in too. “Someone from your website sent me a private message.”

“What?” Rob pulls back, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Did they threaten you? I can ban them for violating TOS rules.”

“No, nothing like that,” Bucky says. “It was just a guy who wanted to tell me he liked my post.”

Rob’s eyebrows rise so high, they nearly meet his hairline. “You sure he’s not just fucking with you? Sometimes people on there do stuff like that to posters they don’t like to gain their trust so they can get information and doxx them. It’s happened before.”

“That’s exactly what I thought at first!” Bucky points. “But no. We’ve been going back and forth all weekend. He’s genuine.”

“Hmmm, OK.” Rob still looks skeptical. “So...you guys are what? Internet friends united against Steve Rogers?”

Bucky chuckles. “No. My post was _pro_ -Steve Rogers. The real one we saw on those tapes.”

“We’ll agree to disagree,” Rob says. “I’m glad you found a new friend. What’s his screen name?”

“Don’t boot him!”

Rob snickers. “I won’t. Promise.” 

“It’s Nobody2014,” Bucky confesses. “He said he sent you a couple of complaints about how racist the Sam Wilson thread is.”

Rob rolls his eyes and sighs. “Oh yeah, _that_ guy. I cleaned up the Wilson thread as soon as he reported it, and he still complained about it. He’s one of those hardcore SJWs.”

Bucky frowns. “Because he doesn’t like racism?”

“Most of those posts aren’t even racist,” Rob says defensively. “People have legitimate complaints about Wilson.”

“A lot of the crap I’ve read on there about Wilson is pretty racist," Bucky defends. "It’s like people just refuse to give him a chance, and we know why.”

Rob shifts in his seat and glances at the jumbo television. “So uh, did Nobody2014 give you his name?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at the change of subject but he’s in no rush to have another argument. They’re already struggling for some semblance of peace. 

“Yeah, he calls himself ‘Steve Rogers’.”

“What?” The way Rob’s eyes bug out is almost comical.

Even if Steve is a little disconnected from reality, Bucky feels protective of him. He forces a smile and tries to brush it off. “It’s probably just a tongue-in-cheek homage to Rogers. I kinda dig it.”

Rob shakes his head. “I guess. I hope he’s not delusional. Don’t give him any personal info.”

“Becca already gave me the stranger-danger lecture.”

“Good. Listen to her. Your sister is smart.”

Bucky chuckles. “She also suggested it could possibly be the real Steve Rogers.”

The snort Rob let’s out is so loud, it draws stares. “Like Steve Rogers would ever email you.” 

Bucky tilts his head in question, suddenly reminded of the thin ice their relationship is on. 

“You know that’s no dig on you, right?” Rob rushes to say. “It’s just... why would Steve Rogers reach out to _you_ and not me?”

“I dunno. Because he liked my post?” Bucky says.

Rob sits back and gives Bucky a wary stare. “Now you’re just trying to pick a fight.”

“No, I’m not,” Bucky says, trying to keep his voice even. “I just think that if Steve Rogers were alive--”

“He’s not,” Rob snaps. “Steve Rogers would never hide away like a coward while someone like Wilson takes his place. Which is why people don’t trust Wilson, by the way. His whole passing the shield story sounds made up. But whatever. We have different opinions about those videos and who Steve Rogers really is, and that’s fine. Just because I have a Ph.D. in American History and have written two books about the guy doesn’t mean you can’t have your opinion too. I’m glad you found a new friend. Internet friends are cool, I have a lot of them. I’m just saying, watch your back.”

There’s so much wrong with this conversation, Bucky can’t even begin to parse out all the ways it’s rubbing him wrong. 

He stares up at the score on the jumbo screen Giants 31, Panther 33. 

“Looks like you're paying,” Rob says with a smug smirk. 

Bucky can’t even offer him a fake smile. The promise of make-up sex has lost its appeal. He’d rather go home and write, maybe check his email. He thinks of the last message he sent to Steve and wonders if there’s an email waiting for him. 

Rob seems to understand and sighs in resignation as he props his head on hand, staring out at all of the patrons talking, eating, and laughing. 

Suddenly Bucky feels alone and adrift. 

Their waitress comes over and asks if they want anything else.

Bucky shakes his head and pulls out his wallet. “Nah, I think we’re done.”

They walk back home in strained silence. It’s only four blocks but it feels like eight. Rob keeps a cool six inches to the right of Bucky, and his eyes on the storefronts. Bucky watches the cars go by and the other couples on the street. They all look so comfortable and happy, talking, and holding hands. It only makes the strain between him and Rob more acute.

Finally, _finally_ , they get to their apartment. Rob quickly disappears into his Cap-cave and Bucky unplugs his laptop from the kitchen and goes to the bedroom to change into some comfortable sweats. 

Once he’s settled, he powers up and checks his email. There’s one new message sitting at the top of the pile from SomeKindofNomad2014. There’s one word in the subject line -- Hello :)

Bucky smiles as he double clicks to open it. 

_Bucky,_

_This is Steve (Nobody2014) from the CA site. I’m really glad we can talk directly now and I look forward to reading your thoughts on my last email._

_Thank you for sharing your truth with me. I’m really sorry that happened to you. The internet can be so terrible. But I guess it has its benefits too. I can be an asshole, as you will probably find out, but I promise not to betray your trust. You can hold me to that._

_I haven’t taken a picture since 2014 and I’ve never taken a selfie before, but I figure you’d want some assurance you’re not the only one taking a chance here._

_Talk to you soon._

_Steve_

Bucky gasps as he scrolls down. 

Steve has a full beard that almost covers his bashful smile. His hair is dark blonde now, and much, much longer, past his shoulders. And damn, those are some impressive shoulders. The arm he used to take the selfie is stretched, revealing an impressive bicep. He could pass for a very pretty mountain man or rock star. Except for those eyes. Those startling, familiar blue eyes decorate almost every room of the apartment because they belong to the one and only original Captain America, Steven Grant Rogers.


	5. So Much Better Than Ryan Gosling

As a teenager, Bucky used to have this recurring fantasy of meeting Ryan Gosling in his favorite AOL chat room. In this fantasy, Bucky’s chat skills were so charismatic Ryan couldn’t resist DMing him. They’d hit it off right away and then Ryan would send Bucky a nude selfie and his phone number. 

This isn’t a fantasy though. Bucky continues to gawk at the long-haired, bearded man on his screen, trying to process what he’s seeing. 

Steve Rogers is dead. It’s 2018, which means he’s been dead for nearly four years. Bucky has always _believed_ that with 99.9% certainty. It’s one of the few things about Steve Rogers he and Rob agree on. 

But the bright blue eyes, slightly crooked nose, and sharp jawline that no beard can really hide-- they all prove him wrong. 

He checks the email address again. _SomeKindofNomad2014._ It’s reminiscent of Steve’s CA username ‘Nobody2014.’ 

Bucky covers his mouth as the pieces fall into place. 2014 is the year SHIELD was disavowed after Hydra's infiltration was discovered. 2014 is also the same year Sam Wilson announced Steve Rogers passed the shield to him. 2014 is the year Steve Rogers disappeared. 

A dozen questions bloom at once, crowding Bucky’s mind so quickly he can barely focus on just one. When exactly did Steve find out about Hydra’s infiltration? Is that why he really left? _Why_ is he hiding? Did he inadvertently do something to help Hydra? Is he in contact with Wilson? Where is he hiding that would enable him to blend in looking like _that_? 

Bucky scrolls back down to stare at the picture again, soaking in every little detail. There’s a drawing desk in the background, half-covered with an unfinished illustration that Bucky can’t make out. With his neatly trimmed beard, healthy dark blonde locks, and rolled up plaid shirt, Steve looks like a well-groomed mountain man.

Bucky has always liked his superheroes rough around the edges, people who dirty up nicely. Aside from his battle footage, Steve always presented a clean-cut image, right down to his baby smooth shaved face and crisp military haircut. This new look is rough and rugged in the best of ways and it’s taking Bucky’s mind to dirty places.

He swallows and glances up at the door. Rob’s voice carries through the walls as he recaps the Avengers’ event for his podcast. 

Bucky tries to picture Rob’s reaction to Steve cosplaying Jax Teller and confirming the tapes are, in fact, authentic. He’d probably lose his shit, especially once he found out his idol not only liked Bucky’s post but agreed with him. 

The taste of victory would be sweet, but short-lived. Rob would want to talk to Steve either directly or through Bucky. He’d ask for an interview too. Even if Steve refused, Rob would blab about it on his podcast and Steve would disappear again.

Bucky shakes his head, resolute. There’s no way he’s ever telling Rob about this. Keeping Steve’s trust supersedes his boyfriend’s obsession. 

Bucky begins to craft out a careful reply that doesn’t sound like it came from a starstruck fanboy when he hears Rob say goodbye to his listeners. The creak of a chair and Rob’s loud groan as he stretches sends Bucky scrambling. 

He closes out of his email, powers down his laptop, and sprints to change into a faded t-shirt and his Batman PJ bottoms. By the time Rob walks in, Bucky is tucked in with his Kindle and doing his best imitation of someone engrossed in a book. 

“Whatcha reading?” Rob asks.

“Um, the _Lincoln in the Bardo_ ,” Bucky replies, his voice a little too high.

“Saunders?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says, clearing his throat. 

“He’s pretty good,” Rob says.

Bucky nods. “I like him so far.”

“You still mad at me?” Rob asks so abruptly Bucky’s eyes snap up. 

“I’m not mad,” Bucky says truthfully. 

“You’re not happy either,” Rob says matter of factly.

“Are you?” Bucky blurts out because maybe if Rob is unhappy too it won’t feel like it’s all on him to figure out how to fix whatever is wrong with them.

Rob stares back for too long. As uncomfortable as it is, Bucky holds his stare. 

Finally, Rob gives a long-suffering sigh and holds out both arms like he’s at a loss. “What do you want me to say, Bucky?” 

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

Rob’s jaw tightens and Bucky puts his Kindle down, waiting. “The truth is… I don’t like needless drama. We already discussed this at dinner and for some reason that led to you getting mad at me. I _still_ don’t know what I said or did to piss you off, but whatever it is, I’m sorry, alright?”

“I’m not pissed off,” Bucky says wearily. “I’m just frustrated that we aren’t really communicating well. Doesn’t it bother you that you don’t even know why you’re apologizing?”

“Yes,” Rob says, rubbing his forehead. “Yes, it does. It also bothers me that I feel like I’m repeating myself. I already told you what I think the problem is. If you wanna go round and round and have the exact same conversation again, can we at least save it for tomorrow? I'm tired.”

Frustrated, Bucky purses his lips. “Yeah, I’m tired too.”

Rob huffs. “Do you want me to sleep in the other room tonight? Give you some space?”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Did I say that? Stop talking down to me like I’m a kid.”

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a moody teenager, I wouldn’t have to,” Rob says, his voice rising. “You’re so fucking sensitive. I feel like I have to be so careful about what I say to you--”

“Or maybe just more thoughtful.”

“You’re talking to _me_ about being thoughtful?” Rob’s face is red with anger, something Bucky has only seen a few times. “You’re the one who blew off a major event you agreed to attend, something you knew meant a lot to me.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “What happened to ‘it’s my fault, Bucky, I should have reminded you?’ I thought we agreed we were both in the wrong and to let it go.”

Rob laughs, but it’s joyless. “That’s funny coming from you. You _never_ let shit go. Case in point, this entire conversation.” He snatches his pillows up and turns for the door. “I’m not playing this game with you right now. I need to get some sleep.”

“Fine,” Bucky says in resignation.

Rob storms out of the bedroom and slams the door to his Cap cave. Bucky gets up and shuts the bedroom door.

He stands there for a long time, recalling recent conversations with Becca, all the times she’s asked if this is what he really wants, that he’s brave and strong enough to leave and live on his own.

Bucky grips the edge of the computer desk and leans in, bracing himself as the bedroom begins to spin. Or maybe it’s just Bucky’s world slowly titling. He closes his eyes until it stops and then sits down to open his laptop. 

Maybe it’s time to do some apartment hunting.

Several Google searches later Bucky has a better idea of what it will cost to move out and find a place of his own. It will definitely set him back and he’ll struggle to make ends meet for nearly a year until he can recover from the transition.

But Becca would be happy to put him up while he works it out. Maybe he could even save a little while staying with her.

Bucky tries to sort through the tornado of emotions rattling his insides. He needs to calm down and be rational about this. It’s been a long day, he just had an argument with his boyfriend, and his anxiety is higher than usual. Now is not the time to make rash decisions. He will take a step back, get some sleep, and think about this when he has a cooler head.

He rolls his neck and stretches his left arm a little too hard, focusing on the sharp pain to relieve some of the tension in his body. When he’s done he finishes his email.

_Steve,_

_Well God bless America! Look at you! Confession time again- after you told me who you were, I still didn’t really believe you. I thought you were a slightly delusional but mostly harmless individual who had pretty cool opinions. So I threw caution to the wind and decided you being delusional didn’t matter._

_I have **so** many questions, but I don’t want to bombard you. Please, just allow me this one for now though - did you join a biker gang or an 80’s hair metal cover band? No, seriously. I love the look, man. I really do, but it’s a total 180 from your old one. _

_Aaaaand yes, you caught me. I don’t go camping or kayaking, but I really want to. I don’t know what’s stopping me. Perhaps it’s because my boyfriend hates outdoor stuff. Now that I’m typing this out, that sounds like a dumb reason not to do something. Another talking point for the therapist? ;)_

_I don’t want you to think I’m disturbed or anything, but I am seriously thinking about going back to therapy. I have a lot of shit to sort out. Nothing too out there, just regular life-altering decisions :O I’m glad you understand the value of it. Honestly, that’s a real surprise. When you were CA you were like the embodiment of level-headed. I know a lot of older vets say therapy is useless, some of the younger ones too. Two of my guys think shrinks actually make things worse. I’m not saying I believe therapy is a cure-all because it definitely isn’t, but it helped me a lot when I first got back, which is why I stopped going lol._

_I guess I gave myself away with that Giants comment. I am **from** New York by way of Indiana. My family moved to Brooklyn when I was in the 5th grade. It was a real culture shock. I got into a lot of fights my first year. Actually, your backstory helped me. My Dad used to give anecdotes about you fighting off bullies before you had the serum. My mom hated those stories because she dislikes violence, but my Dad would always give me a wink and tell me to stick up for myself. It actually worked. Once the bullies saw I was always going to fight back, they left me alone. So thanks? lol. _

_I think that’s why the clean cut image you portrayed in those old films and the PSAs never quite seemed genuine to me. I kinda agree with the op-ed. There is an incongruence between the image we got of you and the one on those videos. I have to say, those tapes made my day. That’s why I wrote that post._

_But I understand why you had to put on a public face. There’s no way they would have put you out there cursing and bad mouthing public officials. It must have been hard to always keep a part of yourself in check. I can see how complicated things would get to have that kind of duality. Dude, you’re like the original Batman or something :D_

_Your memories of stargazing on the rooftop with your mom reminded me of living in Fort Greene. My family didn’t do rooftops, but we loved grilling on the balcony. It was against fire code, but half the fun was getting away with it. The entire building was in on it. We’d pick a day to set up our grills and fire them up at the same time. Everyone shared. You could knock on anyone’s door and get a sample of what they were grilling. By the time the landlord came looking for who the culprit was, everything was packed up and put away like nothing happened. He never found out who was grilling, lol. I really miss that community. People would stop and ask how I was doing and they really cared about the answer. I don’t even know who our neighbors are here. I suppose that’s partly my fault. I could be friendlier but it just seems harder now. People barely make eye contact._

_So what neighborhood in BK are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever read or heard any mention of it. Have you had a chance to go back to visit?_

_I’m relieved you like the Mets. Captain America or not, if you were a Yankees fan, I would have been forced to end our communication._

_I’m so sorry about your friends. Your story of coming back and being here in a new century never really clicked for me until I saw those tapes. I realized how hard it must have been for you to be here, trying to adjust to everything by yourself. Do you visit them? I’ve lost three men. I visit them once a year. I know that’s not everyone’s thing, but it helps me. I talk to them. I don’t know if they’re listening, but it always feels like they might be._

_I’d love to hear more about your comic, although I guess that would give away your new identity, so I understand if you can’t tell me. I'm glad we’re on the same page about anti-heroes. I love their complexity too. Rob always tells me I over analyze things. He thinks the comics I like are too cerebral and “woke”, says they suck the fun right out of the story. Which is kinda ironic coming from a man with a PhD that focuses on American superheroes. Ah well, I’m learning that having a PhD doesn’t mean someone is smart or kind. That probably sounds mean but I’m not in the best mood right now, and he’s a large reason why. Anyway, I bet he’d probably hate your subversive comic, which for some reason makes me smile considering how much he admires you._

_As you can see I like writing a lot too ;) so don’t worry about running long on your messages because I definitely will. Also, I like reading your replies. They actually make me smile for some reason. Probably the same reason I miss the old neighborhood. It’s nice to make a connection, really talk to someone who’s listening._

_\- Bucky_

After sending the email, Bucky slides back into bed and stares up at the ceiling listening for any sound coming from the next room. It’s really quiet, and the only sound is an occasional car passing by outside. 

Bucky wonders if Rob is also wide-awake on that ugly brown futon of his, and if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell they’ll be able to fix their relationship, or if this is the beginning of their end.

After a restless night and fitful few hours of sleep, Bucky wakes up to his phone alarm chiming. He rolls over to shut it off and then just lays there wishing he could get 12 more hours of sleep. Even through the closed door, the smell of bacon and eggs is very strong. Bucky struggles to get up. As soon as his feet hit the floor, the jiggle of Rob’s keys surprises him.

It’s way too early for Rob to be leaving. A strange achy feeling grips Bucky’s chest as he makes his way into the hallway.

“Gotta run!” Rob calls, his voice full of false cheer. “Breakfast is on the stove. Have a good one!”

The door closes and Bucky listens to the staccato sound of Rob practically running to the elevator.

Bucky stands at the edge of the kitchen, squinting against the harsh sunlight spilling through the kitchen window until his eyes adjust. There’s a covered pan of bacon and eggs sitting next to a half-filled pot of freshly brewed coffee. 

Bucky shuffles over to the stove to retrieve his teapot.

Fed, full of tea, and freshly showered, Bucky checks his email before he leaves for work. No new mail. He tries to tell himself he’s not disappointed as he starts his morning commute.

The stop and go of morning rush hour is worse than usual. At one point traffic stops completely and everyone watches as an ambulance comes racing up the shoulder of the highway. Bucky doesn’t even crane his head to see what’s going on ahead. He’s only half-listening to his audiobook, too occupied by thoughts of what’s going on with his relationship and Steve Rogers being his penpal. 

He runs on autopilot for the rest of the day editing dry health policy proposals and nodding in all the right places as his coworkers make small talk. When 5pm comes, Bucky gets back into his car in a daze of ‘what ifs’ and ‘should I’s’ still circling in his head. He doesn’t even bother playing his Audible book.

Somehow, he manages traffic without really paying attention and ends up at Vegz on the tail end of the dinner rush. The diner is semi-packed and there are only a few seats. The hostess sits him in the corner near the bathroom. 

Somewhere between thoughts about _major life decisions_ and _Steve Rogers is alive_ and _I hope he writes back soon_ sits a trepidation about going home and resuming last night’s argument. 

“Whoa, I almost didn’t recognize you, I thought that pen of yours was a part of your body,” Christine says, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts. One of her eyebrows is artfully raised like she's waiting for an explanation.

“What? Oh, uh, I’m not really in the mood to write right now,” he says, running his right hand through his hair. 

She tilts her head, her eyes assessing. “You OK? You look a little out of it.”

Bucky bites his bottom lip as he looks up at her. There’s open concern on her face. 

“Actually, no. I got a lot of shit going on,” he confesses.

She frowns. “I’m sorry. I have a few minutes if you wanna talk.”

Bucky looks around. There are still a lot of people here, Christine’s on the clock, and he’s being pathetic. He shakes his head. “Nah. Thanks though. Just need to think some things over.”

“How about some tea?” Christine offers. 

Bucky tries to keep his face neutral as he replies, “No thank you.” 

Christine rolls her eyes. “Not _our_ tea. I would never do that to you. I got some real stuff in the back. They call it _Organic Georgetown Waterfront_. Tastes like ginger and berries. Picked it up at the Tea Mansion, so it’s good shit.”

“From your own personal stash? Oh no, I couldn’t…”

One hand goes to her hip like she’s not going to accept that. “Yes you can, I insist. Besides I don’t have anyone to rave about it with, so tag, you’re it.”

She walks off, effectively ending the conversation. Bucky fiddles with the menu, staring at it without reading a thing.

Christine comes back with a steaming hot cup and sets it down in front of him. The smell drifting up from the steam is so divine it makes his eyelids flutter. 

“Thank you,” Bucky says softly. “This is really nice of you.”

She shrugs. “Anything to help make a crappy day a little brighter. Can’t have my favorite writer too sad to write. Are you in the mood to eat anything?”

“Yeah, I’ll do the usual,” Bucky says. 

Christine smiles. “ _Vegz_ burger with Parmesan fries coming right up!”

As he waits for his food, Bucky eyes his messenger bag with his notebook inside. He can’t summon the energy and focus to write. But he does think about his story and his priest at the crossroads. All this time he’s been wasting time crafting the perfect kiss in order to avoid having to make a decision about how the character gets to that point in the story. Frustrated with himself and his indecision, he takes a sip of the tea. It’s damned good.

“Have you been giving some thought about what you might want me to draw?” Christine asks as she sets down his food.

Caught off guard, Bucky stammers. “Uh, no, not really. I’m not even close to finishing. I’m barely halfway done.”

“Well, I go on maternity leave soon, probably next Friday,” She crosses her fingers. “So, I have some time between now and then or whenever this freakin’ baby comes.” She gives a nervous smile. 

“When are you due?” Bucky asks.

Christine rubs her swollen belly. “Two weeks? Who knows, really. My doctor says it can come any day now, but one of my friends was a couple of weeks overdue and they had to induce hers.”

“Yikes.”

Christine nods. “Yeah, that would suck, and I really don’t want to take leave too early, so I’m gonna try to work up until I can’t.”

Bucky frowns. “Isn’t that risky? Do you have to do that?”

“Yeah, especially now that my asshat boyfriend has up and disappeared.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” Bucky says without thinking. Geez, his mouth. “I’m sorry, I need to shut up--”

“No, no, it’s OK. It’s really fucked up,” Christine sighs. “I try not to think about it because if I do I’ll start crying.”

Bucky frowns. “Do you have someone--”

“I’m good, really,” she says quickly. “I have a good support system, my brother and mom, and a solid group of friends all waiting to babysit. Plus I’m trying to reconnect with some family I lost touch with. The father of my baby is a shithead but I’ll be fine without him.”

Bucky knows what it's like to be pitied, and he doesn’t want Christine to feel that way, so he nods and gives her an encouraging smile. “I'm glad to hear that.”

“Anyway, starting a new project would be the perfect way to keep my mind off all of that,” Christine says. “I can do a preliminary sketch to see if we’re on the same page. Maybe that will light a fire under your lazy ass.”

Bucky nearly spits out his tea as he chokes out a laugh. “Oh, so that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is,” she says with a cheeky smile.

Bucky chuckles. “OK, smart _ass_ , how do you feel about illustrating a hot priest in a compromising position?”

Christine’s eyes glint mischievously as she leans in. “How compromising are we talking?”

Suddenly embarrassed, Bucky shrugs. His face is burning. “Something that could get him suspended.”

The laugh that garners turns the heads of the couple in the next booth. “You’re writing priest porn!”

“Shhhh,” Bucky ducks his head and glances around. “It’s not _porn_.”

“Uh-huh.” Christine’s smirk is far too devious. “Well aren't you full of surprises? I already have so many ideas. I’ll draft you up something tonight. You coming in tomorrow?”

Bucky blinks back at her in surprise. “Oh yeah, sure.”

“Christine!” someone calls from across the room.

She flashes that brilliant smile of hers. “I gotta get to my other tables now, but keep writing, OK?”

“OK,” Bucky says, grinning after her. 

Maybe he will revisit that fork in the road tonight when he gets home tonight.

By the time Bucky leaves _Vegz_ , he has Christine’s personal email address, and she has his. It makes him feel a little special and even more excited about the story.

Street lights flicker on as the reds and purples of dusk bleed into the horizon. Late October’s icy hand smacks Bucky across the face as soon as he steps outside. He pulls his inadequate peacoat tighter and briefly debates looking for a closer parking spot. The odds are not in his favor and will only delay time away from the warmth of his bed. He walks briskly to get home. 

The apartment is dark but the sound of Rob’s voice in his Cap-cave is crystal clear even through the closed door. Grateful for the respite from inevitable tension and awkwardness, Bucky quickly heads straight to the bedroom to take a hot shower. 

He feels a little looser and refreshed afterward and changes into some sweats before sitting down at his computer desk. As he opens his laptop, his leg jitters up and down and the buzz of anticipation thrums beneath his skin. He checked his email twice today and there was no reply from Steve. 

He opens his email and smiles in relief. There’s one new message. 

_Bucky,_

_Thanks for getting back to me. I kinda figured you still didn’t believe me. I understand. It is pretty remarkable that we’re chatting. When I went into hiding, I abstained from all correspondence for over a year, and even after that I only communicated on secure channels with a few close friends. Talking to new people this way just isn’t smart and I really hate lying. These last two years have been tough though. I guess the isolation is starting to get to me, that’s the only explanation I have for why I risked reaching out to you. It was pretty stupid, actually, and still is. I’m putting a lot of trust in a perfect stranger, but so far it’s paid off. :) I really enjoy our communication. So thanks for rolling with it and being a stand-up guy._

_I really like how you talk about your feelings. It’s not something I’m used to. I could blame it on the era I grew up in, but that wouldn’t be the entire truth. As a skinny guy who got sick a lot, I learned how to protect myself in a lot of ways. One of them is soldiering through the hard stuff instead of talking about it. So I really admire your openness. I think it takes guts to admit that you need to talk to someone. I used to be like some of your buddies. I thought therapy was some kind of new age fad with questionable results. It didn’t help that when I came back, they made me see a shrink every week for months. I hated it. Something in my gut told me the shrink was digging for information. After everything went down, it turned out I was right. Who knows who that guy was really working for._

_After I left, I had a lot of guilt and anger so one of my friends suggested I talk to someone reliable. They set it up so I could do my sessions virtually with the camera off. My new shrink didn’t even know my real name. Of course, I had to be careful about what I talked about, which is why I stopped. But I think after everything was said and done it still helped. I’m better at dealing with my feelings now, at least I like to think so._

_You should definitely go camping if you want to go. I don’t know anything about your relationship but from what you’ve shared so far, you and your boyfriend sound very different. It seems like that’s starting to become a problem. I don’t want to pry, but if you ever want to talk about it, you have an ear here. I’ll just say this about it - it’s OK to have your own life and interests outside of what other people want or expect from you. It took me too long to learn that. Being separated from the role of CA forced me to take a look at myself and my life in a new way. I wasn’t really living, you know? Just fighting. I still believe signing up for the serum was the right thing to do and I’m proud of some of the things me and my teams accomplished, but after everything I was fighting for was destroyed I had to reevaluate why I was still doing it. Since then I’ve learned there are many ways to fight, to make a difference. You have to live life on your own terms. :::steps down from soapbox:::_

_I grew up in Brooklyn Heights. It wasn’t called that back then and it looks a lot different now. I went back once for some ribbon cutting ceremony where they were honoring me. It was kinda embarrassing. That’s not why I signed up for the serum. But I am grateful that people think I made a difference._

_I like Batman a lot, by the way. He’s not my favorite anti-hero, but he’s in my top 5. He’ll never be in my top 3 because of that whole duality thing. It’s never really sat right with me how he embraced the duality. I guess I like my anti-heroes to have the kind of arc where they end up rejecting the duality and come out as unapologetic about who they are. There might be a little projection going on there :)_

_I’ve never been to Fort Greene, but grilling on the balcony with family and neighbors sounds really nice. Community is everything. Before my mom died, she did a lot to try to bring people together. We didn’t have much but she was always helping people and sharing what we had. She taught me the value of looking out for others, especially those who couldn’t help themselves and keeping good people around you to lean on. I think that’s what made coming back difficult. I had to make new friends, and I don’t really trust easily. That’s how I know you’re a good person. My instincts are rarely wrong when it comes to people._

_Speaking of my old friends, yes, I have visited them. I don’t get to as often as I like because of surveillance, but I try to make an annual trip. I’ve never tried talking to them, but maybe next time I will._

_I actually don’t mind the Yankees (please, don’t delete me). I know I’m supposed to because apparently, it’s sacrilegious to like both, but I guess I’m just pro-New York. I do prefer the Mets though._

_I’d love to tell you about my comic someday. I’d like to get to know you better before I do that. I agree the world needs more subversive comic books. Have you ever thought about doing something like that? If not, this is me encouraging you to consider writing one. :D_

_By the way, PhD or not, your boyfriend’s opinion on this subject is crap. I also think it’s disrespectful for him to belittle the things you like. Maybe I’m reading into things though. I don’t know the context of the conversation in which that came up, so please feel free to tell me to mind my business!_

_Your friend’s art sounds like the sort of thing I would be into. I’m certain Sam would love that picture. If you give me a link, I’d like to send it to him. _

_I’m relieved you don’t have a problem with my long letters. Please don’t shorten your messages for my benefit because I really enjoy reading what you write._

_OK, well, I guess I’ll end this here. I have to get back to work._

_Btw, what’s your latest writing project about? I’ll tell you a little about mine if you tell me about yours ;)_

_-Steve_

Bucky can feel the ridiculous smile growing on his face. There’s just something about Steve’s authenticity and conviction that’s so reassuring and it’s hard to not notice the absence of the tension Bucky has been carrying on his shoulders all day. 

He spends the next half an hour crafting a reply before powering down. 

Everything is quiet across the hall and Bucky wonders if Rob is doing podcast stuff or just holed up in his Cap-cave avoiding him.

Bucky gets ready for bed, acutely aware of every sound in the apartment, waiting for the inevitable tension that’s slowly becoming a part of their life.

He reads a little before nodding off. When he jerks back awake, the digital clock says it’s 11:26pm. The other side of the bed is still empty and the apartment is still quiet. 

Bucky sits up and considers whether he should get up and check in on Rob. He could be the bigger person and say ‘hello, how was your day?’ 

But Rob would either say something super polite or he’d apologize, and then they’d have a rerun of yesterday and not talk about anything _real_. Just thinking about it makes Bucky incredibly weary. He turns out the light and pulls the duvet over his head.


	6. You've Got Mail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you with screen readers & challenges reading specialized font, Chapters 6-8 & 10 contains extensive mixed media. We've coded alternate text into the images posted in these chapters. However, if you still experience difficulty reading, please let us know and we will include the alternate text in the endnotes.

The apartment is no longer a safe haven. As a former sergeant, Bucky has done plenty of recon to assess risk. Right now his apartment is a minefield he doesn’t have a map for and it’s easier just to work a little later and spend more time at the diner talking about his new collaboration with Christine.

It’s a listless Saturday. Rob left early for his gaming meeting and Bucky has a few hours to kill before the writing group starts. He can tell by the brightness of the blinds that it’s a beautiful autumn morning. Why is he just laying around? There’s a whole world out there and the only parts he’s seen in months are those that take him to work or home.

With a sudden burst of energy, Bucky jumps out of bed and hastily throws on a pair of comfortable jeans and an old grey long-sleeved knit sweater. As he grabs his car keys and leaves, he’s acutely aware of not having a plan or a general destination, and that, more than anything, is exciting.

He gets in his car and just drives until he sees I-95 South. He’s not sure what he’s looking for until he sees signs for Leesylvania State Park. He follows the signs until he sees a huge parking lot. It’s just 10am and there are already quite a few cars here. He watches as families unload their cars with coolers. That anxious pull he couldn’t quite understand dissipates as he parks.

Bucky’s getting used to coming home late and having the bedroom to himself for a few hours until he falls asleep. Rob always comes in after he’s gone to bed now. Sometimes Bucky will wake up alone and wonder if he ever came to bed at all.

Christine’s sketches are more inspiring than Bucky anticipated. She’s putting images into his brain that he wants to bring to life, and he’s writing faster and as a result, he’s much further along than he ever thought he could be.

Christine finally goes on leave, and Bucky tells her to call him if she needs anything. The diner is different without her and he suddenly feels like he’s loitering so he starts scouting out new writing spots. He stakes out a desk next to the large bay window of the library.

Sometimes Bucky will run into one of the members of his writing group and they’ll chat. Now when they ask him what he’s working on, he can look them in the eye and talk about it, because it’s something he knows he won’t drop and he actually likes the way it’s developing now.

Becca comes over more often now. She claims she’s doing a ‘dating detox’ and maybe she is, but Bucky knows she knows something’s up with him and Rob. It’s just the way they take care of each other. She only asks where Rob is once and never brings him up again.

Bucky suggests they start working their way through the classic movies featured on TCM, Becca just goes with it. Sometimes she mentions an apartment vacancy with affordable rent that so happens to be near her place. Bucky nods but never engages. He’s not ready, but it’s still good to know there are options.

There’s always a Friday happy hour at work. Bucky used to decline in favor of running home to curl under the covers with Rob, or gorge on pizza and work on his story until Rob finished his podcast, then they would watch a movie and fuck. They haven’t done that in a while though, and going home doesn’t sound nearly as appealing as a Bloody Mary. So he goes and it turns out to be a good time. He gets to know a few people better and finds he actually likes them more outside of work.

Being away from the apartment gives Bucky a new setting to think in without the uncomfortable inevitable tension of unresolved conflict that fills any room he and Rob happen to find themselves in, however briefly. It also gives Bucky free rein to write to Steve about Rob.

Bucky tried to catch Rob at breakfast for a change. He forced himself to get up when he felt the bed shift when the weight of the body next to him left. Rob seemed surprised by Bucky’s appearance so early in the morning. He gave a stiff smile and rambled about being so busy lately and how they’ve been like ships passing each other. Bucky nodded and followed the script as their conversation devolved into discussing the forecast for the day. Bucky wanted to ask why they were talking about the weather, where it went so wrong, but it seemed too early for those kinds of questions and he didn’t want to start the day with an argument.

Sometimes, when Rob’s home, it feels weird to write to Steve because a lot of what Bucky writes now is about shoring up the courage to leave. At first, he felt guilty about it, but now Bucky is almost certain Rob is doing his own version of the same. He barely looks at Bucky when they pass each other now, and he’s always in a rush to go somewhere else. They dance around each other without touching, and when they go to bed, they face away from each other. Bucky wakes up alone now more often than not and when Bucky comes home, Rob is in his Cap-cave or not there at all.

Bucky initially tried to put a limit on the number of emails he sent Steve every day. He didn’t want to look clingy or like he didn’t have a life. But Steve quickly put those fears to rest, responding within a few hours of receiving Bucky’s emails. Sometimes he replies within the same hour.

Bucky’s wide awake when the notification chime on his phone goes off. He rolls over and starts typing on his side.

Bucky hasn’t been to the VA in over a year. He decided to do PT for his arm closer to home once his anxiety was manageable. In the past week, though, he’s been tossing and turning and chewing at his cuticles until they started to bleed. That’s when he knew he had to follow through with his promises about going back to therapy.

The chrysanthemums and pansies outside the VA medical facility are dying but the large white brick building stands tall and sturdy. Inside, everything looks the same. The smell of Pine-Sol and bleach are strong, but not enough to cover up the smell of sickness.

Bucky recognizes some of the staff, a few even wave and stop to tell him it’s nice to see him again. His ears burn as he struggles to make small talk without ducking his head in embarrassment. They’re all professionals and would never ask why he’s coming around again or why he disappeared, but Bucky still feels like he has the word “setback” stenciled across his forehead. Just when his anxiety is about to kick into overdrive, he remembers Steve’s words.

Coming back here isn’t a sign of failure. Bucky takes a deep breath, his nerves settling as he exhales and walks up to the counter to check-in.

  
  
  


One day Bucky’s coming out of therapy and he runs into his former lance corporal and close friend Dan. He finds out that Dan is still going to the VA for leg PT. They’ve been trading random texts promising to get together, but it just never happened. Before Bucky can say a word, Dan pulls him into a tight hug and Bucky holds on, surprised at how much he missed his friend. Within two hours they’ve dragged their other friend, Jeremy, out of the house and away from his new wife to search for a dive bar with a decent pool table and cheap beer. It's one of the best days Bucky’s had in over a year.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. They’ve talked about almost everything under the sun at all hours of the day and night, but for some reason, Bucky is freaking out. It’s only fair. Steve already sent his picture and Bucky’s still hiding behind a computer screen.

It’s not like it matters or anything. Bucky’s still sorta dating someone and Steve has given no indication he’s interested.

That still doesn’t stop Bucky from artfully styling his hair and putting on his best-looking periwinkle henley. He tries out several angles in different lighting. He doesn’t want to look like a try-hard but first impressions matter. He takes several dozen before he finds one that captures his eyes and smirk in a way that is flattering but not flirty.

Bucky re-reads Steve’s compliments about his looks. It’s flattering for sure, but it also makes him think about whether there would be a chance with Steve if things were different. But he’s still with Rob, so even thinking about that feels wrong. It also makes Bucky feel caged in a prison of his own making. He knows he has the key to get out and these days he’s thinking more about how and when he’s going to do it.

Bucky wakes up the next morning to the alarm on his phone chiming in that infuriating cheery way it always does. He wipes the crud out of his eyes and stretches. The space beside him is cool and untouched. There’s no evidence Rob spent the night there.

Bucky stretches and checks his phone for email notifications. There are none.

It’s OK, it’s fine. It’s still early.

He drags himself out of the bed and goes through his morning routine, checks mail again. Nothing.

The day creeps along and Bucky keeps checking his email throughout only to be disappointed. By the time he gets home, it’s dark. The apartment is empty. Rob isn’t even in his mancave.

Bucky looks around and tries to imagine this being his new reality. An empty apartment, no one to come home to, perhaps in a shabbier building. It’s not so bad.

He puts down his messenger bag and goes to take a hot shower, purposefully avoiding his computer desk and laptop.

The shower doesn’t relax him like it usually does. It feels like every minute he doesn’t check his email only ramps up the anticipation of what awaits him. Afraid of disappointment, he draws it out even longer and texts Becca, and then watches some crappy new CW show.

He stays up watching the news until his eyes begin to droop. It’s close to midnight. Rob still isn’t home. Bucky walks slowly to his bedroom and sits at his desk to power up his laptop.

His heart races as he opens up his email and then it sinks into his stomach.

No new mail.

He’s probably overreacting, but Steve always replies to Bucky’s messages right away, sometimes within minutes. After weeks of corresponding with Steve several times a day, this feels wrong.

Unable to let it go, Bucky checks the read receipt. Steve read his email immediately after it was sent, almost 24 hours ago.

Bucky takes his phone to bed, gripping it tightly to his chest as he fights sleep so he won’t miss the chime of a new email notification.


	7. A Different Kind of Fondue

Bucky only gets a few hours of sleep before waking up on his side with his face pressed against his phone and his pillow on the floor. He checks his phone again but there are no new notifications.

The disappointment and worry from the previous day return tenfold. Hoping he doesn’t make things worse, he rolls over to type out a short message.

After doing a few stretches Bucky stumbles out of bed and takes a shower. Caught in the strange liminal space between sleep and weary consciousness, he stays under the hot water until it starts to go cold. Trying not to think about email or Steve, he runs through a mental to-do list as he gets dressed and makes breakfast. Overall, Bucky’s efforts at acting like a functioning human being are successful, until his phone chimes with a new email notification. He puts the mug down too hard and hot tea splashes up, soaking his sleeve. It doesn’t even matter because something in his chest flips when he sees the new email in his inbox.

Relief and curiosity war with each, but Bucky’s relief is stronger and he tucks away his questions to send Steve a quick affirming reply.

He stops writing and sends it before he can gush any more and decides not to examine why his reaction to hearing from Steve is so different from hearing from anyone else.

It takes all of two hours into the workday before Bucky cracks and checks his email. Steve’s reply has nothing to do with why he went silent or even Bucky’s last message. He’s asking Bucky for feedback about a few new sketches and ranting about the asshole who requested them.

They go back and forth throughout the day and more than once Bucky’s coworkers ask why he’s so happy. Bucky tries to temper his smile but it’s useless. He feels much better than he did 24 hours ago. For some strange reason having an open line to Steve anchors him in a way he doesn’t even understand.

Bucky is halfway home when his sister’s name lights up the dashboard and the ringing of his phone through the Bluetooth interrupts his audiobook.

“Hey what’s up?”

“Ugh, I’m stuck at work and have a few minutes of dead time, entertain me.”

Bucky chuckles. “I am not here for your entertainment. Go call one of your boy toys.”

“I take offense at that term. They’re men.”

Bucky snorts. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Damn right I am. Look, I was thinking of coming over later, you gonna be around?”

Bucky hums. “Yeah but uh….”

“But what?” she demands.

“I kinda need some alone time tonight.”

“Uh-huh. Like writing time, or time to talk to your little penpal?”

Bucky can hear the quotation marks around _penpal_. He rolls his eyes. “Stop insinuating. We’re just friends!”

“All I’m saying is that every time I come over, you’re checking your phone for messages from him.”

“We’re _good_ friends!” Bucky says firmly.

“Mmmhmm, well tell your _friend_ I said ‘hello and I hope I get to meet him one day.’ Shit, free time’s over, they’re starting the meeting early.”

“Early? It’s after 5!” Bucky says, horrified. “Who schedules meetings after 5?”

“The jerk who signs my paycheck. Talk to you later, little bro.”

“I’m older than you!”

Becca cackles and then hangs up, leaving Bucky shaking his head.

He switches from his audiobook to a generic pop station to get him through the rest of his commute. By the time he rolls into his neighborhood, Bucky is practically bouncing in his seat. He’s in such a good mood he decides to skip eating out. A home-cooked meal would be nice, perhaps he’ll make his Ma’s homemade spaghetti and meatballs.

Miraculously, there’s an open spot on the corner of his block. He parks and climbs out, shivering against the cold wind. Pulling his coat tighter around himself, he walks quickly to get home.

Rob’s car parked right in front of their building, which means this will be the first evening in weeks they’ve been at the apartment at the same time. Hell, they might even run into each other.

It doesn’t matter, nothing can curtail Bucky’s good mood. He practically skips into the lobby of their building, retrieves his mail, then takes the elevator up. He jiggles his keys loudly as he unlocks the door to give Rob fair warning, just in case he wants to retreat into his Cap- cave.

Rob’s ‘on air’ voice carries loud and clear into the living room like it’s on speaker. Bucky’s steps stutter in surprise. He hasn’t heard Rob do a podcast in quite a while. Then again, Bucky comes home late these days.

“Moore obviously wants to push his anti-American agenda by smearing the legacy of our greatest American superhero. If he insists on using those fake tapes to make his so-called documentary, real Cap fans should not give him one cent.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and pulls off his messenger bag. He’s contemplating the pros and cons of taking a shower before making dinner when Rob's voice practically booms with renewed energy.

“OK folks, as promised, today we have a very special guest. You’re gonna wanna stay tuned for this one because it’s a real doozy. We will be talking to a woman who claims to have direct relation to the one and only Steve Rogers.”

Bucky shakes his head. Sometimes Rob invites questionable experts or strange eccentric people to make fun of. He plays like he’s doing a serious interview, meanwhile, the person has no idea they’re the butt of a joke. Bucky used to think it was just harmless pranking, but now he sees it for what it is - a mean-spirited way to exploit people for ratings.

Rather than listen to Rob mock someone Bucky makes his way towards the bedroom.

“Remember folks, we here at Steve Rogers’ Nation strive to be just as fair and unbiased as our fearless hero, so let’s hear her out. OK, 3-2-1, and we are live. Welcome to Steve Rogers’ Nation, Ms. O’Brien.”

“You can call me Ms. O’Brien-Jarvis, actually,” says a voice so familiar it stops Bucky in his tracks.

“Christine?” Bucky whispers, slowly turning towards the closed door of Rob’s man cave.

“O’Brien- _Jarvis_?” Rob asks. “As in Edwin Jarvis?”

“That’s right,” Christine says matter of factly.

Rob huffs out a chuckle. “So I guess we’re just jumping right into it. Alrighty then. So are you claiming that your grandfather is Edwin Jarvis, the man who married _the_ Peggy Carter, Steve Roger’s first and only love?”

“Yes.”

“And that would make Peggy Carter your--”

“Grandmother, yes she is.”

Bucky just barely manages to bite his tongue before a curse word flies out.

“That’s a pretty remarkable claim,” Rob says with a tone of amusement that warns he’s about to try to destroy Christine’s credibility.

“Yes, I realize that,” Christine says.

“Especially since Peggy Carter died in 2016 and there were no grandchildren listed in her obituary.”

“Yes, well---”

“In fact, she and Edwin only had one child, a son that _never_ married or had any children.”

“That you know of,” Christine replies evenly.

Rob scoffs. “Well, it just so happens, I’m a researcher by trade, for those of you who may be new to our broadcast, I have a _Ph.D._ in American History, specifically American heroes and patriots, and I teach American History at American University…I know, it’s crazy, you can’t make this shit up… anyway, as a researcher I have access to a number of databases, so I did a little research before our call and do you know what I found?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” Christine says with a smile in her voice.

Bucky clenches his fists. He knows Rob and doesn’t like where this is going.

“Yes, I am,” Rob says in that smarmy way of his. “Not only did Peggy Carter and Edwin Jarvis not have any grandchildren, but according to David Steven Jarvis’ obituary, your quote-unquote father passed away on May 10, 1983, at the tender young age of 28, and no spouse or children are listed.”

“Well, that obituary isn’t true and neither is Peggy Carter’s,” Christine says without any hint of defensiveness. “As a scholar of history, surely you’re aware that my grandmother was the co-founder of SHIELD, which means her job required keeping secrets.”

Bucky presses his hands and left ear tighter to the door.

“So why don’t you tell us what the truth is then?” Rob says with an edge of impatience.

“The truth is my dad is still alive,” Christine says. “And he’s been living under another name for the last forty years to protect our family from scrutiny, even though I never asked to be protected. And although Edwin Jarvis loved and raised my dad as his own, he is not his biological father.”

“Oh yeah?” Rob asks with that mocking lilt in his tone, but Bucky can tell he’s also very intrigued. “And who is his biological father?”

“Steve Rogers.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open in a soundless gasp.

Rob practically chokes. “I’m sorry, wait a minute… you’re saying that your father, who is listed as deceased, is not only alive but is also Steve Rogers’ biological son? That would make you Steve Rogers’ granddaughter!”

“Yes, exactly.”

“So I’m gonna stop you right here, OK,” Rob says with a disbelieving chuckle. “Because none of this is adding up. Let’s lay out all of the facts, shall we? First, Steve Rogers put his plane down into the Atlantic ocean in 1945. That’s indisputable, it’s a matter of public record.”

“Yes, it is,” Christine agrees.

“And Peggy Carter and Edwin Jarvis didn’t even start _dating_ until ten years later. Their whirlwind romance received a lot of press so everyone knows their story: After years of working together they fell in love and got married in _1954_ , nearly ten years after Steve Rogers’ plane went down.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Christine says.

“Their first and only child was born less than a year later in _1955_. I’m no scientist but I do know basic biology and as far I can tell it would be scientifically impossible for Steve Rogers to be the father of that child.”

“Only if you don’t know all of the facts,” Christine says.

“Which are?” Rob demands.

Bucky is as flush to the door as possible to hear Christine’s answer. There’s a long pause and then a small sigh. It’s the first sign so far that perhaps Christine is frustrated with the interview.

“It’s... personal, and not my story to tell. But I am telling the truth.”

“No offense, ma’am,” Rob says in that dismissive way of his. “But it’s kinda hard to buy your _truth_ when you’re not offering any evidence to substantiate it.”

“Well up until six years ago, it was scientifically impossible for someone to survive in a block of ice for 70 years,” Christine retorts. “But now we know that’s possible.”

Bucky has to cover his mouth to stifle his snicker.

But Rob doesn’t seem phased at all. He just chuckles in a sardonic way that indicates he’s about to go for the jugular and completely discredit his opponent. Bucky’s been on the receiving end of that chuckle a few times.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s say we buy your story, even though you refuse to give us a reasonable scientific explanation. But for the sake of argument, we’ll let that slide. What I don’t get is that you’ve known about this since you were….?”

“16.”

“ _16_? So when you were 16 you found out your grandfather was the greatest superhero to ever live, and you didn’t tell _anyone_?”

“My father forbade me from talking about it.”

“Riiiight, and we all know how obedient teenagers are,” Rob says sarcastically. “How old are you now?”

“I’m 31.”

Rob huffs. “So you’ve known Steve Rogers was your grandfather for fifteen years? That means you knew when he came back in 2012. Why didn’t you come forward then? Why are we just hearing about this now when he’s not here to confirm or deny your story?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” Rob says with a scoff. “You wouldn’t happen to have any proof of _any_ of this would you?”

“Just my DNA,” Christine replies calmly and Bucky admires her even more for not allowing Rob to get under her skin. “But I didn’t call in to prove anything.”

“So why did you call in then?” Rob asks.

“I’m hoping there’s a chance Steve Rogers, or someone who knows him listens to your show. I’m having a baby, and I’d like for him to contact me, to reach out to his family.”

Bucky takes a big gulp as Rob outright laughs.

“So wait, you think Steve Rogers is still alive?”

“Yes. I mean, I’m not 100% certain, but it’s hard to believe an enhanced super-soldier died in the helicarrier incident when both Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanov survived. Neither one of them is enhanced.”

“Well we’ve heard that theory before,” Rob says like he’s bored. “A little sidebar here but if anyone out there is interested in theories about the disappearance of Steve Rogers, check out my book _The Greatest Cover-Up: The Truth About The Disappearance of Steve Rogers_. It’s available in hardback, paperback, and on Audible at Amazon. You can find links on our webpage near the bottom at www.SteveRogersNation.com…. Now back to the topic - it’s pretty much consensus that it’s unlikely Steve Rogers, a superhero known for never backing down from a bully or injustice, would run away with his tail tucked between his legs and go into hiding like a coward.”

It takes all of Bucky’s willpower not to open the door and tell Rob for all of his pontificating, he doesn’t know anything about what it means to be a hero.

“I think it depends on your perspective,” Christine replies, her voice still pleasant and conversational. “If you had dedicated your life for a cause, only to find out that cause had been turned into the very thing you swore to fight, you’d probably walk away too.”

“Fuck yes. Mic drop,” Bucky whispers.

“Besides, if your theory is correct,” Christine continues. “Where’s the body?”

“Listen, this has been debated _ad nauseum_ ,” Rob says. “As much as I hate to admit it, Sam Wilson’s account of Captain Rogers passing the shield down in the hospital before being escorted out of the room sounds much more plausible. It’s textbook covert ops for concealing a high profile death. Steve Rogers’ death was politically inconvenient, which is why the government tried to cover it up. Most historians agree with me.”

“Well, I’m no historian,” Christine says.

“That’s fairly obvious,” Rob says snidely.

“But I do disagree,” Christine says unperturbed. “Historians can only work with the evidence available to them, so their assessment of history is often incomplete or inaccurate.”

Bucky bites down on his fist to muffle his laughter.

Rob huffs. “There are also people out there who live in their own alternate reality. I’m not saying that’s _you_ , but some people listening may come away with that conclusion.”

“That’s fine,” Christine says. “I didn’t call in to impress anyone.”

“Oh right!” Rob says with extra gusto. He’s in full mocking mode now and Bucky’s never found him more unattractive. “You called in because you want Steve Rogers or someone who knows him, to what...contact you?”

“Yes,” Christine replies. “I would like for my grandfather to contact me as soon as possible. I’m about to have a baby and I’m overdue. They may have to induce labor soon.”

“Congratulations,” Rob says insincerely. “We wouldn’t want Steve Rogers to miss out on the miracle of meeting his great-grandchild. Do you have a number or email you’d like to pass along so he can get in touch?”

“He can find me,” Christine says. “Not many people know my full name but he does.”

“If he can find you and you believe he’s alive,” Rob says slowly like he’s talking to a child. “Why hasn’t he tried?”

“It’s---”

“Complicated, yeah, I know,” Rob chuckles. “Well folks, as promised, this has been a _very_ interesting interview. I want to thank Ms. O’Brien for---”

“O’Brien-Jarvis.”

“Yes, of course. Ms. O’Brien- _Jarvis_ , for calling in. Do you have any final words you’d like to share? Perhaps a special message for your, uh... grandfather, just in case he’s listening?”

“Yes, thank you. If you’re listening, Steve, I hope you’re OK. I want you to know that he doesn’t speak for me. Not anymore. I want to get to know you. I always have, and I want my baby to know you too. ”

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, backing away from the door.

He has to email Steve. He has to email Christine.

“That’s so… touching,” Rob says in the most patronizing way possible. “I wish you lots of luck in your search. Thanks for calling in.”

Bucky dashes into his bedroom and closes the door. His mind is racing as he opens his laptop and email. Should he email Christine or Steve first?

If he emails Christine, he’ll have to explain that he knows Steve and can help them connect, but then that removes Steve’s choice in all of this. No, he needs to talk to Steve first.

Bucky opens a new email from Steve complaining about his latest project and asking if Bucky wants to watch _Annihilation_ tonight online together. That actually sounds like fun, they’ve never done that before, but there are far more pressing matters to address first.

Bucky chews on his cuticles and paces the room, contemplating whether he should email Christine to tell her he heard the interview and see if she provides any more details. It’s hard to sit tight and not do anything but he doesn’t have to wait long. The chime of a new email notification pulls Bucky back to his chair. He literally holds his breath as he double-clicks Steve’s new message.

Bucky starts typing immediately.

The creak of Rob’s chair sends Bucky back into the hallway. He grabs his bomber jacket hanging on the back of the door, his messenger bag, his keys, and walks right back out. Icy wind whips around him as he walks out of the building, but Bucky is running hot as he rushes to his car. When he gets to it, he jumps in quickly, turns on the engine, and cranks up the heat.

A minute later his phone vibrates and Bucky’s heart feels like it actually skips when he sees the _615_ number flashing on the screen. Bucky tells himself to calm the fuck down before answering.

“Hello?” he says a little breathlessly.

“Bucky?”

“Yes. That’s me. And you’re Steve. Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve says softly. “It’s nice to finally put a voice with the face.”

“I already knew your voice but it sounds better in my ear.” Bucky literally facepalms himself. What the fuck was that?

“Thanks,” Steve says. It sounds like he’s smiling.

Bucky ducks his head. He doesn’t even know why, but his face feels warm all of a sudden.

“Are you OK with us talking on the phone?” Steve asks. “I know I kind of sprung this on you out of the blue.”

“Yeah, no. I mean yes, it’s fine,” Bucky says quickly. “I guess I surprised you too.”

Steve huffs out a chuckle. “You can say that.”

“I uh, left the apartment so we could have some privacy.”

Geez, that sounds much seedier out loud than it did in Bucky’s head.

“Oh,” Steve says, pausing. “Isn’t it cold outside up there?”

“Well, I’m in my car. It’s nice and warm. I have the heat on full blast. Seriously, it’s fine and it’s about time we had a phone conversation.”

Steve hums. “Yeah, it is.”

“Besides,” Bucky says, clearing his throat as his nerves start to kick up. “This is pretty important. I want you to be able to talk about this on your own terms.”

“Right,” Steve says quietly.

There’s a long pregnant silence that has Bucky staring at his dashboard, trying not to breathe wrong so he doesn’t spook Steve before he even starts.

“So…” Steve starts. “This is the thing that I was talking about before. The thing that I haven’t figured out how to really come to terms with.”

“The fact that you’re a grandfather?” Bucky blurts out.

“Yes,” Steve says with so much heaviness.

“So it’s true then?”

“Yes, it is,” Steve says.

He sounds so sad and Bucky hates it. He wants to fix it immediately.

“But...if it’s true, then isn’t that a good thing?” Bucky offers. “I mean, you have family, people who share your bloodline that are still alive. How can that be bad?”

“It’s not,” Steve says. “I’m really happy and grateful that I have a son and a granddaughter. That’s incredible. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d get that.”

“But?” Bucky prompts.

“But... I can’t have any contact with them.”

Bucky frowns. “Why? Christine was just on the air trying to get your attention. She wants you to contact her. I have her email if you want it.”

“I know. You already gave it to me.”

“What?” Bucky asks, nearly dropping the phone.

“Remember that illustration of Sam you wanted me to see?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says before he bolts forward. “Oh! Oh my god!”

“Imagine my surprise when I clicked on the link and saw that the artist is my granddaughter. Then you told me you’re working with her on your story and that she was pregnant….It was a _lot_ to take in. She’s always on my mind, but lately, it’s really been keeping me up at night. I just couldn’t figure out a way to talk about it.”

Dumbfounded, Bucky can only reply, “Steve, I had no idea.”

“How would you? It’s such a crazy story.”

“Yeah, about that,” Bucky says slowly. “How is it even possible you two are related? On the podcast, Rob pointed out... some things that don’t make sense.”

Steve practically growls, “I hope he wasn’t an asshole to her.”

“Well, he’s Rob,” Bucky says in resignation. “Seems to be his default state lately. But she held her own. She’s smart and feisty, doesn’t back down or let anyone push her around. I wonder where she gets that from?”

Steve makes a pleased sound, which makes Bucky smile a little.

“It’s a long story,” Steve says. “But basically Peggy wanted a child without all the fuss of dealing with men.”

Bucky snorts. “That sounds like something Becca would say.”

“From what you’ve told me, they’re a lot alike. Peggy was a really strong independent woman at a time when that was frowned upon. It didn’t help that she was also a well-known veteran. Most men didn’t know how to act around her. And then there were the jerks who wanted to stake a claim so they could show her off like a prize trophy or make her more domestic. She told me she wanted a family but didn’t want the hassle of sorting through all of that. She was seriously considering adopting when Howard brought up the option of artificial insemination. She told me that he suggested using my… samples and that she couldn’t pass up the chance.”

Bucky is rendered speechless as he tries to process this new information. When he recovers, he has to repeat what he thinks he heard to make sure. “You’re saying Stark inseminated Peggy with… with your--”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms. “He had access to everything they ever took from me. It was in storage.”

“Was that like the first artificial insemination?”

“No,” Steve says. “Apparently they’ve been doing that since the 1700s. Crazy right? But it was the first time a sample was used from an enhanced person. Stark was really interested in whether the serum would transfer to the baby.”

“Whoa, and Peggy agreed to let him turn her into an experiment?”

“She said that they had an agreement that if the serum did transfer, he’d leave them alone and apply that knowledge somewhere else. That it was just for scientific observation. Peggy said she really wanted my child so it seemed like a fair trade.”

Bucky can’t help it, he has to know. “Did it transfer?”

“I don’t think so,” Steve says slowly as if he’s unsure. “Peggy really didn’t say, but I got the feeling it didn’t. You have to understand, when I came back she was really sick and in and out of lucidity. When she told me all of this, I was in shock, there were a few things I didn’t think to ask.”

Bucky sits back, letting his head hit the seat’s headrest as he tries to imagine Peggy Carter and Howard Stark shaking hands and agreeing to inseminate her with Steve’s sperm. Something still doesn’t make sense.

“So… Edwin Jarvis was OK with all of this? This happened around the time they got married, right?”

Steve snorts softly. “Not only was he OK with it, but he offered to marry Peggy to help her get full benefits because the government was gonna completely shaft her for being a single mother.”

Bucky’s head is swimming with all of this new information. It’s blowing his mind. “So you’re saying that they had an arrangement? They weren’t really in love?”

Steve makes a non-committal noise and Bucky worries he’s accidentally poked a sore spot.

“Peggy told me she loved Edwin, that he was her best friend, but he wasn’t the love of her life and they both knew it.”

Steve says the last part so quietly and reverently that Bucky can feel the weight that revelation must have had in the moment it was said.

“You were the love of her life.” He doesn’t even need to ask, but he wants to hear it for some reason.

“Yes.”

“And she was yours,” Bucky says, his voice going hoarse.

Steve doesn’t reply right away, and Bucky feels stupid. Of course, she is. Why would he even ask that? He covers his face and tries to ignore the sudden ache in his chest.

“I loved Peggy very much,” Steve finally says. “But she’s gone and I’m still living. This might sound selfish, but I hope I get another chance to love again.”

Bucky swallows, slightly alarmed by the strange fluttering in his stomach. Steve’s his _friend_. He’s talking theoretically and it would be best if Bucky remembered that.

They sit in silence for several seconds before Bucky breaks it.

“So all of this is really amazing, but…it still doesn’t explain why you can’t contact Christine.”

Steve sighs. “Peggy told me that my son was listed as dead as a protective measure, that he’d created another identity, and had a family. She thought I had a right to know. She started talking about our granddaughter, Christine, but then she lost focus and forgot what she was talking about. When she regained clarity she warned me that my son might not respond well if I contacted him. I tried to stay away, but… I just couldn’t. I had to talk to him, introduce myself, so I looked him up. It didn’t go well.”

“What happened?” Bucky asks.

“He was shocked and angry. Said I shouldn’t have called,” Steve says, his voice cracking on the last.

A wave of sadness washes over Bucky. Steve sounds so heartbroken and Bucky has no idea about how to comfort him.

“Is this what you were talking about when you said you said you’ve fallen short in ways you can’t make up for? Because I have to say, Steve, none of this is your fault.”

“I must have done something wrong,” Steve says, his voice affected. “Maybe it’s because the serum didn’t transfer and he’s… God, Buck what if he’s _really_ sick? Like I used to be. Can you imagine your father being Captain America and the only thing you inherit is brittle bones and chronic asthma?”

“You don’t know why he’s angry,” Bucky argues. “It could be _anything_ , and not necessarily something rational. People have all sorts of hangups they project onto their parents. Don’t beat yourself up about something you couldn’t control.”

“Whatever I did or didn’t do, I can’t ever make it right,” Steve says softly. “He said it would be best if...if we pretended that I was still _gone_. And he made me promise to stay away from him and his family.”

Bucky shakes his head. “He has no right.”

“Actually, he does,” Steve counters. “If he wants nothing to do with me, I can’t force myself into his life. I have to respect his boundaries.”

“But Christine is her own person, Steve,” Bucky protests. “She’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions.”

“I made a promise.”

“Christine _wants_ to talk to you!” Bucky says emphatically, suddenly intensely defensive of his friend. “Screw your son. No offense, but he sounds like he has his head up his ass.”

“Buck….”

“No, listen. You always tell me we have to stop living for other people. If you want to honor your promise to stay out of your son’s life because for whatever reason he can’t deal, fine. But he can't make you promise things that interfere with other people’s choices, like your granddaughter and your great-grandchild, who I guarantee won’t have any problems with you.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and as the seconds tick by, the low simmering anxiety Bucky always carries begins to rise. Perhaps he’s crossed a line. He and Steve have shared so many stories and secrets, but this is unchartered territory. Bucky doesn’t want to be insensitive to Steve’s dilemma even if Steve’s son is an asshat.

“You always make a lot of sense, you know that?” Steve finally says. “Except when you’re talking about Star Wars or tea.”

Bucky snorts. “You poor misguided coffee drinker.”

Steve chuckles. “Alright, I’ll--I’ll think it over.”

Bucky nods, even though Steve can’t see him. “I’m here if you want to talk about it some more. And no matter what I think, this is up to you, Steve. Whatever you decide, I’ll still be here.”

“I know,” Steve says, and that warm smile is back in his tone. “Can you hold off from telling Christine you know me until I decide what I’m gonna do?”

“Sure, no problem,” Bucky says. “But you should know that she’s overdue. She said they might induce labor soon.”

Steve inhales sharply. “Oh gosh, really? OK. OK. I just need to sleep on it. I’ll make a decision by tomorrow. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Bucky smiles. “You won’t, but we’ll revisit this again tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says in a voice so warm and low it makes Bucky want to curl up and just listen to him talk some more.

For some reason, his mouth is suddenly dry and he has to clear his throat. “So uh, about those sketches you sent me. I had another idea on the way home.”

“I’m listening...”

Bucky doesn’t even realize he’s been on the phone for over half an hour until Steve suddenly curses about burning his cottage pie casserole.

“I totally forgot about it. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m actually starving myself. I forgot all about dinner.”

“Go eat, Buck. We can talk later.”

“Alright, later then,” Bucky says, smiling for unknown reasons. He doesn’t want to examine it too closely and he doesn't want to try to fix his face either.

He saves Steve’s number in his phone and heads back to the apartment.

After taking the elevator back up, he finds the door still unlocked so he doesn’t have to bother with his keys. Rob’s podcast must be over because he’s talking to someone who sounds like they are right in the room with him. The other person has a slightly higher voice. They sound young and a bit wired if the raucous laughter is anything to go by. It’s probably one of Rob’s gaming buddies.

There’s another outburst of laughter followed by silence. Bucky takes out the hamburger meat to defrost. He’s digging in the cupboard, searching for pasta when a loud thud from the next room makes his head turn. Bucky frowns. Hopefully, Rob and his friend aren’t roughhousing. Avenger cosplay fights can get out of hand.

Another thump followed by a loud moan makes Bucky pause. Someone grunts and it’s followed by a whimper.

Staring into the dark void of the hallway opening just beyond the kitchen, Bucky stops breathing and really listens.

Someone groans. Bucky knows it’s Rob because that’s a very unique groan Bucky used to work hard to coax out of him in the heat of passion.

Before he can even form a thought, Bucky’s feet are moving. He doesn’t hesitate or knock before barrelling through the door.

“What the fuck, Bucky! Don’t you know how to knock?” Rob shouts, covering himself much too late. His flagging erection is still visible, his face is all blotchy, and his hair is all over the place.

On the other side of the room, there’s a younger man with a ponytail that shows off his undercut struggling to pull his jeans back up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you _fucking_ someone else _in our apartment_! ” Bucky’s shaking so hard, it feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin.

“Y-you, you’re not even supposed to be here!” Rob stammers.

“And that makes it alright?!” Bucky practically shouts. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The other guy is finally dressed and now inching towards the door. He’s eyeing Bucky warily like he’s assessing a threat risk.

“Hey man, I’m really sorry,” he says nervously. “I had no idea… I’ll just uh... go now…”

Bucky moves out of his way.

The guy practically dives out of the room, leaving Bucky scowling at Rob.

“Please calm down,” Rob says, holding both hands out and backing up like Bucky is a dangerous animal. It’s infuriating. Bucky has never been violent or dangerous, but suddenly Rob is scared of him like _he’s_ the unpredictable one?

“I know how this looks…”

“You mean like you’re _cheating_ on me?” Bucky says, folding his arms over his chest.

Rob drops his arms and runs one hand through his hair. He glances around the room like he’ll find a good excuse somewhere in the pile of all the junk he’s collected.

“How long has this been going on?” Bucky asks even though it doesn’t even matter.

“Just a few weeks. I-- it just happened.” Rob’s doing that stupid pout he does when he knows he’s fucked up.

“Jesus Christ, Rob,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “He looked like a freakin’ kid! You’re fucking your students now?”

Rob’s jaw tightens. “For your information, he’s a 29-year-old junior professor. He just looks young. We’re colleagues. Give me a little credit.”

“I don’t have to give you anything, anymore,” Bucky declares and damn does that feel good to say.

“Oh, and what exactly have you been giving me, Bucky?” Rob asks. “Besides your attitude and nagging?”

Something inside of Bucky snaps then. “Oh fuck you! I put up with _so_ much of your bullshit. Your arrogance, your narcissism, your condescending attitude, and your obsession, which, by the way, is not cute. It’s fucking creepy. You know what, I’m _glad_ this happened because if I have to listen to you foam at the mouth over Steve Rogers another day, I’d probably eat a bullet.”

“There it is!” Rob points in Bucky’s face. “You don’t understand or appreciate the things I care about. You never did. So yes, I bonded with someone who enjoys the same things I do. Someone who understands why Captain America is so important. Bucky, this is my life’s work, my passion, and I’m tired of spending time with someone who doesn't get it.”

Bucky laughs. It sounds slightly maniacal to his own ears but he doesn’t even care. “First of all, _Sam Wilson_ is Captain America, deal with it. And you don’t even know Steve Rogers! You worship a _fairytale_ cooked up by the government to sell war bonds! And that’s fine. It is. But please stop acting like the guy is your best friend. I don’t care how many books you’ve written or read or how many of his films and radio broadcasts you’ve memorized. You. Don’t. Know. Him.”

The way Rob suddenly goes still and narrows his eyes is unnerving. For the first time, Bucky realizes he doesn’t really know this guy anymore if he ever did. He plants his feet and prepares himself for anything.

“You’re jealous,” Rob says. “You’re jealous of Steve Rogers.”

Bucky sighs, rubbing his temples where he feels a headache forming. “What?”

“You hate how much I talk and think about him,” Rob explains. “I didn’t see it before, but you’re actually jealous.”

Bucky throws up his hands. “Well hot damn! I think you might be onto something, _Professor_. That’s it! All this time, I’ve been dating a guy who is in love with another man and it’s just killing me inside.”

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm,” Rob says with that weary paternal voice that Bucky despises. “I’m trying to be mature here and work through this with you.”

Bucky snorts. “There’s no working through this! We’re done.”

He turns and walks out, heading straight to his bedroom.

Rob is on his heels. “Bucky, please… I know this is bad, but we should talk about it. We’ve been together for three years, we can’t just throw it all away.”

“You already trashed it,” Bucky says, pulling his duffel bag from the top shelf of his closet. He stuffs a few days worth of business casual slacks and dress shirts in there along with his favorite henley and jeans.

“And let’s face it, we’re both unhappy. We haven’t been happy for a long time. I’ve been thinking about how to leave you for the past month. So really, thank you!”

Rob looks genuinely shocked. “You’ve been thinking about leaving me?”

“Are you really surprised?” Bucky sighs, all of his anger evaporating as he realizes this may not be the ending he was hoping for, but it’s the one he needed. “Come on, you know in your heart we’re not right for each other. Just… accept it. I have.”

Rob opens his mouth a few times and then finally snaps it shut. He stands to the side, watching as Bucky grabs a pair of sweats, some underwear and socks, his Kindle, his chargers, and his favorite pillow because Becca’s pillows aren’t fluffy enough.

Bucky shoulders the bag on his good side tucks the pillow under that arm and makes for the door.

Rob reaches out and touches his elbow to stop him. “Are you sure? We could---”

“Goodbye, Rob,” Bucky says, looking him straight in the eye. “I’ll get the rest of my stuff later and leave the key when I’m done.”

The weight of Rob’s stare is heavy on Bucky’s back as he moves into the hallway and picks up his messenger bag from where he dumped it on the couch. He opens the front door, steps into the hallway, and closes it without looking back.

It’s a lot colder now but the moon is nearly full and there are a million stars twinkling in the jet black sky. Bucky stops right outside the building to stare up at them. The night has never looked so bright, or maybe his eyes are just a little clearer now.

Someone nearby is cooking chili. Bucky takes a big whiff and his mouth waters. He still hasn’t eaten dinner. Hopefully, Becca has leftovers.

As he makes his way down the sidewalk towards his car, he passes an older woman walking her pug.

“Good evening,” she says, giving him a nod.

Bucky smiles. “Yes, it is.”

Bucky sends the text to Steve as soon as he gets in the car. He waits a few minutes but gets no reply. It’s fine. It’s getting late and Steve did say he didn’t like texting. He calls Becca on the way to her place just to make sure she’s home. Not only is she home, but she’s absolutely ecstatic about Bucky walking out on Rob.

When he arrives at her apartment, she’s beaming.

“Sheesh, you don’t have to be so damn happy about it,” he mutters.

“Are you serious?” Becca says, clapping her hands. “I’ve been _praying_ for you to leave. That douche was a major asshat.”

She walks him back to the spare bedroom, which is all neat and tidy. Bucky unloads his stuff onto the bed and stretches. This is really happening. He’s no longer in his cage. It’s weird and awesome and a little scary.

Becca must sense his confusion. She squeezes his shoulder and smiles. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good. I’ve got tons of leftover lasagna,” she says, marching back out into her kitchen.

Bucky follows and takes a seat at the kitchen table.

“Yes!” he exclaims as she pulls a huge aluminum tray out of the fridge and sets it in the oven. “I was just about to make Ma’s spaghetti and meatballs when I caught Rob getting busy with his coworker.”

“ _What_? Oh hell no! That fucker is going down!” Becca looks livid as she moves towards the coat rack.

Bucky quickly rushes out of his seat to block her path. “No, Becca, please... no revenge. Not this time. I’m fine. Seriously. It’s probably the best thing that could have happened. I was dragging my feet and this forced me to end it. I’m glad it’s over.”

Icy blue eyes just like his own burn holes into his skull, but Bucky is in no mood to argue. He plops back down into the nearest chair as exhaustion from the day overtakes him.

Becca’s scowl slowly melts as she looks down at him. “OK, little bro, I’ll leave it alone for now.”

Bucky glares up at her.

“Yeah, yeah I know, you’re older, but tonight I’m gonna take care of you.” She ruffles his hair. “So kick your shoes off and get comfortable.”

Bucky pretends to be irritated by her coddling, but they both know he loves it when she gets affectionate. He toes his boots off under the table and sits back to relax.

Becca shoos Bucky away to unpack his duffel bag while she makes a salad to go with the main course. When he returns there’s a huge plate of the best-looking lasagna Bucky’s seen in years sitting next to a bowl of salad and a large glass of red wine.

“Wow,” Bucky says, taking a seat. He moans as he takes his first bite. “I forgot you can actually cook.”

A crouton hits Bucky right in the middle of his forehead. “And that’s why I don’t cook for you!”

“No, seriously,” Bucky says. “This is really good. Thank you.”

Becca smirks. “There’s plenty more.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky takes another bite to savor the warmth and amazing flavor. It reminds him of the old days, of home, and a rush of gratitude fills him.

“You know what this means, right?”

Becca raises one curious eyebrow.

“I’m never leaving,” Bucky says. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to,” Becca says with a shrug.

Bucky covers his heart. “You’re the best sister ever.”

“OK, now you’re just kissing ass,” Becca says with a playful scowl. “I said the spare room is yours, alright? Have some dignity!”

“I have no dignity when it comes to good food,” Bucky says. “If you keep feeding me like this, expect lots of effusive praise and declarations of love.”

Becca shakes her head. “God, what did I just agree to?”

They tuck in and Becca tells Bucky about her day and one of her more bothersome boy toys. She’s really in full rant mode when her phone vibrates on the table.

“Speak of the devil,” she says, putting the guy on 'ignore'.

“You’re terrible,” Bucky says before stuffing his mouth with a hunk of garlic bread.

“He needs to learn. This is training,” Becca says. “Anyway, enough about me, I want details about what happened with you and Rob.”

Bucky sighs. He supposes she deserves an explanation for why he’ll be crashing at her place for the foreseeable future. Plus, it’d be nice to talk about it with someone.

So he tells her about coming home and interrupting Rob’s little tryst, their argument, and the way he walked out.

“Ugh, I really wanna punch him,” Becca says.

Bucky gulps down a mouthful of wine.

“Wait a minute, back up,” Becca says, narrowing her eyes. “You told Rob he doesn’t _know_ Steve Rogers, why did you use the present tense?”

Bucky bites the inside of his bottom lip. Damn his sister is observant. Anxiety flares in his gut. Becca’s reaction to Steve really matters to him.

Becca’s eyes grow bright with interest. “What is it?”

“You know my penpal Steve?”

Becca nods.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “He’s Steve Rogers.”

They’re locked in a staring war. Becca puts her wine glass down without breaking eye contact.

“I thought we agreed your penpal has a fake name.”

“We were wrong. Steve Rogers is really Steve Rogers.”

Becca purses her lips. “Prove it.”

Rising from the table, Bucky goes to the spare bedroom to retrieve his cell phone. His picture gallery is full of landscapes and wildlife from his camping trips but there’s one photo that sticks out. He blows that picture up and hands over his phone.

Becca pulls the screen close to her face while Bucky takes his seat again.

Her eyes grow cartoonishly wide before she shrieks. “Oh my god. Bucky!”

Bucky nods, commiserating.

“Oh my god, this is Steve Rogers! Bucky!”

“Yeah, sis, I know.”

“He’s really hot! I mean he’s always been hot, but I love the long hair and beard. He looks like a buff Jax Teller.”

“That’s what I said!” Bucky exclaims.

“Holy shit,” Becca says, still staring at the picture. “And now you’re single…”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. Stop.”

Becca hums. “You haven’t even thought about it?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”

“Why not?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “We’re _friends_ , and I just got out of a relationship.”

Leaning in, Becca props her head on her hand. “Are you telling me if Steve Rogers asked you out, you wouldn’t say yes?”

Bucky squirms a little. “I didn’t say _that_.”

“Thank goodness, there’s hope for you yet.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Bucky says, trying to steer the conversation to safer waters. “This is all a secret. He doesn’t want to be found, so you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die, I promise I won’t say a word,” Becca says with a small smile. “But you know what this means right?”

Bucky winces because he knows what’s coming.

“I was right!”

Bucky groans.

“I _told_ you Steve Rogers was alive and cruising that Captain America site.”

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” Bucky says in defeat.

“Nope!” she says, looking victorious. “But seriously, good for him. I’m glad he got out. Fuck SHIELD.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Bucky says, raising his glass to meet Becca’s.

He’s eyeing the stove, contemplating getting seconds when his phone rings.

Becca pounds the table and points at Steve’s name lit up on the screen. The phone rings again, Bucky scrambles to pick it up and answer.

“Hey, Steve, what’s up?”

“Buck! Oh good, I caught you. I was worried you’d turn off your phone to avoid talking to Rob.”

Steve sounds winded, which is odd because he’s enhanced.

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I’ve already blocked him. Are you all alright? You sound out of breath.”

“Oh, yeah, probably because I just ran 22 miles in about fifteen minutes to get to the airport.”

“Airport?” Bucky says as he stares at his sister in surprise. “You’re coming up here?”

Bucky freezes as Becca covers her mouth with both hands.

“Yeah, I contacted Christine! She said if the baby doesn’t come by tomorrow, they’re gonna induce labor within 48 hours, so I gotta make this next flight.”

“Oh wow… Steve, that’s fantastic!” Bucky says in shock. His sister is waving her hands to indicate she wants to know what’s going on. “I’m so happy for you.”

“My plane is about to board,” Steve says. “But I wanted to ask if...if you’d be interested in meeting me tomorrow for coffee and tea, or maybe lunch? Whatever you want. Not that you have to, I mean you don’t have-”

“Uh, yeah, sure!” Bucky rushes to say. “I’d love to meet you. Lunch sounds great.”

Becca pumps both fists in the air and shouts a soundless “Yes!”

Steve sighs with what sounds like relief. “Oh good. It’s a date then. We’ll work out where and when after I land. I’ll email you just in case you’re sleeping.”

“OK,” Bucky says, his brain fizzing out. “Have a great flight.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I can’t wait to see you. Tell your sister I said ‘Hi.’ Oh and congratulations! I can’t wait to hear what happened, but I gotta go now. They’re boarding. Talk to you soon, OK?”

“Yeah, OK. Talk to you soon,” Bucky says.

Steve hangs up and Bucky slowly puts his phone back down, still trying to absorb what he just heard.

“Bucky!” Becca says in a way that suggests she’s been trying to get his attention. “What did he say? Is he really coming here?”

With his heart hammering so hard he can barely breathe, Bucky nods slowly.

“Yeah, I think… I think I have a date.”


	8. The Problem with Being Steve Rogers

Bucky is tucked in under a super thick duvet, all comfy and cozy when his phone vibrates. He doesn’t even let it get to the second ring.

“Hey…” he says, hoping his voice sounds calmer than the internal freakout he’s having right now.

“Hi. You sure it’s not too late to be calling?” Steve says in a low husky voice that heats Bucky’s blood.

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky says. “Becca sleeps like the dead and her bedroom is two rooms away down the hall.”

“OK,” Steve says. “So… I’m here.”

Bucky can feel his face splitting into a grin. “And where is here exactly?”

“I am staying at The River Inn. It’s the closest hotel to the hospital Christine checked into.”

“She’s already there?”

“Yes, she was actually waiting for her mom to come and pick her up when she got my email.”

“If I were superstitious, I might call this fate.” Bucky tightens his grip on the phone as it occurs to him how corny he sounds.

“I don’t know if I believe in fate,” Steve says. “But I don’t believe in coincidences either. All of this does seem serendipitous, to say the least.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Bucky breathes, curling in on himself and mentally cheering. Suddenly he’s 16 again, wriggling around on his bed with frenetic energy.

“After we hung up last time, I realized how I must have come across,” Steve says apologetically.

Bucky frowns in confusion, his exhilaration deflating. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I know you just broke up with Rob,” Steve explains. “So calling our meeting _a date_ was presumptuous and inappropriate. I don’t want to be pushy or for you to think I’ve been waiting for you two to break up so I can… you know…”

“No, no, I never got that feeling,” Bucky rushes to say. “You’ve been great, Steve. We’re _friends_ first. But I’m really glad you called it a date. I want that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Bucky says emphatically.

“Good, because I really like you, Buck. But I don’t want to be the… rebound.”

“I like you too,” Bucky says, horizontally dancing with giddy excitement. “And you’re not a rebound. I think I’ve wanted this for a while but I wasn’t sure if you did, and I was still with Rob so I didn’t let myself think about it. But I’m single now soooo…”

“So about that date,” Steve says in a much huskier voice.

Bucky flips onto his back, cheesing hard. “What do you like to eat?”

“I’m pretty much open to anything except for sushi. I just can’t do it.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “What? I _love_ sushi. OK, I guess that narrows things down a little, but not by much. There’s like a million restaurants in DC that don’t serve sushi. You gotta give me something more to work with.”

“What do you like?” Steve asks.

“Me? I’m a human trash compactor. I’ll eat almost anything, except for liver.”

“You don’t like liver?” Steve asks. He sounds amazed. “That’s one of my favorites, especially when it’s all smothered in gravy and onions.”

“Ew, Steve, gross! You’re gonna have to eat that on your own time, pal.”

Steve chuckles. “Fine. Name your top three favorite types of food and we’ll choose from those.”

“Hmm,” Bucky says, thinking. “If I absolutely have to pick only three, I’d have to go with... Italian, Mexican, and Ethiopian.”

“Ethiopian?” Steve asks. “I’ve had food from Morocco and Nigeria, but I’ve never tried anything from East Africa.”

“Oh my god, Steve, you have to try it,” Bucky says. “If you don’t like it, I have a good backup, but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna love it.”

“Alright, I trust you,” Steve says with so much affection, Bucky knows he’s not just talking about food.

The butterflies in Bucky’s stomach are flapping like crazy now and he rolls back over onto his stomach so he can bury his face into his pillow.

They make arrangements to meet up at a great Ethiopian restaurant near Steve’s hotel at 12:30 pm and then the conversation turns to the breakup. Steve goes from outrage to supportive affirmation as Bucky recites the argument word for word. They discuss what Bucky’s next move should be, about staying with Becca, and her reaction to finding out about Steve. Bucky’s relieved when Steve says he’s glad Becca finally knows.

Steve talks about his email to Christine and how quickly she responded, how swiftly they moved to the phone and made arrangements for him to come. The conversation shifts to the baby, what the doctors have said, Christine’s mom being a worrywart, and Steve’s nervousness about meeting her as well. Bucky tries to reassure Steve that everyone is going to love him.

Steve not so subtly changes the subject to Bucky’s book. Bucky understands he needs to get his mind off of meeting his family, so he distracts Steve by talking about his writing progress and where he wants to integrate Christine’s illustrations. He confesses that he’s never finished a book project and how nervous he is about sharing it with the world. Steve is so supportive and says he's invigorated by Bucky’s progress and shares his idea for a comic about a new anti-heroine.

Bucky closes his eyes and listens to Steve’s deep rumbling voice. His New York cadence is soothing like an old lullaby and it doesn’t take long before Bucky starts to drift off.

“Bucky… Buck?”

“Wha- oh, I’m awake. Still listening.”

Steve chuckles, soft and fond. “You’re fading on me. It’s nearly 3 am. Both of us had an eventful day. We should get some sleep.”

Bucky makes a noise of protest. He could definitely get used to falling asleep with Steve talking in his ear.

“I guess you’re right,” Bucky says reluctantly. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Me too,” Steve says.

Bucky holds on, listening to Steve breathe, and starts to drift off again.

“I’m really hanging up now…” Steve says.

“OK, me too,” Bucky says, with no intention of moving.

They both stay on, listening to each other breathe. Bucky can picture Steve laying in bed just like him, maybe he has his eyes closed as he cradles the phone.

Bucky sighs in contentment and Steve breathes out a quiet chuckle.

“Night, Buck.”

“G’night, Steve,” Bucky murmurs before finally hanging up.

The next morning Bucky is up before his alarm goes off. He only got a few hours of sleep but he’s awake and wired with anticipation. He makes his way to the kitchen with the intention of making breakfast for Becca as a ‘thank you’ for last night, but the smell of eggs and onions greets him as soon as he steps into the hallway.

Becca is at the stove completely barefoot, humming some indecipherable tune. Beneath her apron, she’s suited up in a sharp blue two-piece pants ensemble and her curly locks are pulled up stylishly like she just came from the salon.

Standing at the edge of the kitchen, Bucky marvels at the tour de force that is his sister.

“Becca…”

“Morning, loverboy. How’d you sleep?” she asks over her shoulder like she already knows.

Before Bucky can even get out a ‘thank you’ or ‘you shouldn’t have’, Becca is demanding details-- namely, where and when he’s meeting Steve and what he plans to wear.

Bucky gives her the name of the restaurant and she knows it’s serious because Bucky only eats Ethiopian with special people. He confesses he has no idea what to wear, given his limited clothing options right now. Becca, of course, tells him to wear the periwinkle henley and Bucky’s favorite jeans and she advises him to ease off the styling gel so his hair is soft and easy to tug. She says the last with a salacious wink that has Bucky pushing past her to fill his tea mug (and hide his blush).

When Bucky finally takes his seat, Becca sets down a plate of egg and veggie souffle. Bucky groans his appreciation as he takes his first bite. Becca’s breakfast is infinitely better than Rob’s _and_ she has more tea options, which is the most important part of breakfast.

“Don’t expect this every morning,” she warns as she sits down. “Especially if I cook dinner the night before.”

“We’ll make a schedule,” Bucky offers. “We can rotate who cooks when and who does what chores.”

Becca nods as she stuffs her mouth full of souffle. “Deal, but just so you know, if you’re staying here rent-free, you’ll always have bathroom duty.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky mutters. “Fine. But I’m not a freeloader. I’m paying rent.”

“No,” Becca says firmly. “You’re saving up while you’re here. I want you to find a decent place. No arguments.”

He watches her scarf down the last of her food, then stands to fix a to-go mug of tea. She pulls a prepared lunch tote from the fridge and goes to shrug on her teal winter parka and sleek leather backpack.

“Alright, I’m outta here,” she says, walking to the door with all of her stuff in tow. “Enjoy your date and don’t be weird. Just be your regular dorky self. For some reason, Steve already loves that.”

Bucky shoots her a glare which he suspects is ruined by the reluctant smile pulling at his lips. “Gee, thanks for the pep talk.”

“Call me right after. I want details,” she says as she steps out of the door.

“I don’t kiss and tell!” yells after her.

“Ah! So you _do_ plan on kissing him.”

“Ugh!” Bucky groans. “That’s not what I meant.”

“You better call me!”

And then she’s gone and Buck is left to his own devices with four hours to spare before his date.

Bucky changes twice, even though he only has two decent outfits. He ends up wearing exactly what Becca picked out and artfully teasing his hair for a good half an hour until he gets that tousled look that makes him feel kind of sexy.

He debates whether to drive his car. The restaurant is only 10 minutes away but parking is terrible in that area, so he decides to leave the stress behind and take a Lyft. When the digital clock reads 11:40am, Bucky rationalizes he needs to put in the Lyft request just in case of traffic. The lunch rush is especially bad and it is better to be super early than have Steve think he’s been stood up.

A black Lyft SUV arrives five minutes later. Traffic is bad but better than usual, so Bucky arrives at the restaurant twenty minutes early. It’s a crisp autumn day with hardly a cloud in the overcast sky, so instead of going into the restaurant right away, Bucky takes a stroll down the block to kill some time.

At 12:11pm he decides to turn back towards the restaurant. When he gets inside, he asks for a table near the window. The hostess sits him front and center, giving him a view of the street.

To calm his nerves, Bucky orders a glass of red wine, hoping that Steve won’t think he’s uncouth for drinking so early in the day or for ordering before he arrives. He takes out his phone. It’s 12:15pm. There’s still plenty of time. Bucky looks over the menu, mentally checking off items he thinks Steve might want to try for his first Ethiopian dish and a few he wants for himself.

At 12:20pm Bucky has finished half of his wine. He looks out the window, trying not to fidget in his chair as new patrons arrive, get seated, and place orders.

Loud sirens blare from down the street, drawing stares. Bucky turns his head to see what’s going on, two cop cars flashing their blue and red lights fly down the road, parting traffic. A fire truck comes screaming up from behind and then they’re gone and everything is back to normal.

Bucky does a quick check of himself, making sure he hasn’t spilled anything on his clothing. Still clean as a whistle but he smooths down the invisible wrinkles over his chest and thighs anyway.

It’s not until the waitress brings him another glass of water, that he realizes he gulped down the first one. That’s a lot of liquid within a short time period. Bucky checks his watch. 12:25pm. He has 5 minutes to get to the bathroom, take a piss, and return to the table. He can do this.

Mentally counting down in military time, Bucky gets it all done in less than two minutes with another thirty seconds to spare for washing his hands. When he comes out of the bathroom, he’s practically vibrating with the hope that Steve will be standing near the door, waiting for him.

There’s no one there. Bucky glances up at the television hanging over the bar. 12:29pm. It’s OK, DC traffic is hard to navigate, especially if you’re not a native. Bucky realizes he doesn’t know if Steve is walking, driving a rental car, or taking a Lyft.

Either way, Steve will probably be 5-10 minutes late. Bucky checks his phone to see if he has any missed messages.

Just one from Becca:

Bucky shakes his head. His sister knows him well.

12:35pm Bucky gets a notification from his local news app about a shooting nearby. That probably explains all of the sirens. Bucky sighs and puts his phone down on the table. The restaurant is much more crowded now and he tries to reassure himself he did a good job coming early to secure a great table.

The waitress comes by again at 12:40pm to ask if Bucky would like another glass of wine. Bucky would definitely love one but doesn’t want to look like a lush, so he declines. Instead, he gazes out the window and watches all of the couples walking by. It’s a nice fall day for coupley things like holding hands and huddling close to generate body heat.

Ugh.

Bucky glances across the dining room where even more couples are seated. As he watches their smiling happy faces, the hope and excitement he started the day with starts to slip like sand through his fingers.

It’s 12:47am. Steve’s not gonna show. He probably changed his mind. Maybe he saw Bucky from across the street, got a peek at his potbelly. The selfie Bucky sent was from the shoulders up and he was really working his angles. Bucky runs his hand through his hair and stares down at his traitorous mid-section. He’s never gonna be cut up with a six-pack like he was in his twenties, maybe Steve wants someone more fit, someone who--

“Oh my god!”

Bucky snaps his head back to see who made that exclamation. A small crowd is gathered by the bar, staring up at the television, while the rest of the restaurant cranes their necks to gaze upon it.

The running chyron reads a lot like the news alert on Bucky’s phone. D.C. Shooting. But the rest of that sentence steals Bucky’s breath.

_Assassination Attempt on Former Captain America, Steve Rogers_

Steve’s name echoes throughout the restaurant like a round from an out of tune choir. Bucky watches on with everyone else as the anchorwoman reports.

“This is quite shocking since many believed Rogers died four years ago, but that theory has always been highly contested…”

Bucky makes a tight fist with his left hand and extends his arm under the table until the pain shoots down his entire arm, sharp and hot.

“In recent weeks there’s been renewed interest in the original Captain America, with the recent emergence of that controversial behind-the-scenes footage taken from his beloved PSA series…”

Where is Steve right now? Where are they taking him? Is he alright? Is he… he can’t be dead. He can’t be.

“From the time of his disappearance, there have been extremist groups who have declared Rogers Public Enemy #1…”

Steve is too strong and heals too fast to be mortally wounded. He probably broke a Guinness Book world record just sprinting to the airport to catch his flight here. That’s when Bucky remembers how winded Steve sounded on the phone. As amazing as Steve is, he’s not invincible. He’s still human.

“The shooter appears to be a member of a militia called The True Patriots, a group credited with several domestic acts of terrorism. They have also waged a campaign contesting the legitimacy of Sam Wilson being named Captain America because they believe Wilson colluded with Rogers to destroy the U.S. Government.”

This was stupid, so fucking stupid. Both Steve and Bucky are military, trained to assess threats, and yet they set this thing up like naive teenagers planning their first date. What the fuck were they thinking?

“Witnesses report that the shooter yelled out seconds before firing. He said quote ‘I see you. You can’t hide from us, traitor,’ which of course refers to the once widely speculated theory that Steve Rogers was an agent of Hydra.”

They didn’t even plan for stealth, never discussed securing a safe location or having a backup to meet. No recon, just a throwaway conversation about favorite foods.

“...at this time, we are unsure about where Rogers has been taken. But we do know he was airlifted by an unidentified aircraft.”

Trying to hold onto hope that the serum will keep Steve alive, Bucky pulls out his wallet and puts enough money down to cover his wine and a tip.

He doesn’t know what to do now, or where to go. Did they take Steve to GWU? If Bucky goes there, would they even allow him to visit? Of course not. Who the hell is Bucky? Some rando off the street, claiming to be Steve’s pen pal. Bucky sighs in defeat.

His phone vibrates on the table. It’s a blocked number.

Bucky’s heart rabbits in his chest as he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Bucky?”

That’s not Steve’s voice but it still sounds familiar. Bucky’s sure he’s heard it somewhere before.

“Yes?”

“This is Sam Wilson.”

Bucky moves his lips but no words come out.

“Steve told me to call you. Where are you right now?”

Finally, Bucky manages to find his voice. “Uh, I’m at Das Ethiopian on 28th.”

“Gotcha. Walk outside, towards the back. We’re coming your way now.”

Bucky swallows. “Oh. OK.”

The first few months after Bucky first came home from his second tour were strange. He was on a lot of pain meds and he’d often drift in and out of dreams, even when he was awake. Waking dreams were the worst because Bucky could be walking down a cobblestone street in the middle of Georgetown surrounded by affluent college kids, but the only thing he’d see for miles was sand. Sometimes no matter how far Bucky walked, he couldn’t reach the end of it.

Walking out of the restaurant to wait for Captain America to pick him up feels a lot like that. Like Bucky’s searching for the end of a false reality, waiting to wake up. Hopefully, when he does, Steve will be by his side, smiling and unharmed.

He’s not outside for long before a sleek black Ford GT with tinted windows and DC plates pulls up to the curb.

Bucky gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip as the passenger side window slides down, revealing Sam Wilson. He’s even more handsome than he appears on TV, though it’s strange seeing him out of uniform with no jet wings on his back. The grey henley fits nicely, hinting at a well-toned chest. The Black Widow is behind the wheel, her eyes cool as she leans over to get a good look at him.

The low simmering anxiety that lives in Bucky’s stomach starts to bubble up. These are _Avengers_. What is his life right now?

Sam steps out of the car and yep, he looks really good out of uniform.

“Hey man, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, extending his hand. “Steve’s told us a lot about you.”

Bucky can feel his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he shakes Sam’s warm calloused hand. “Uh, it’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Wilson.”

“Just call me Sam,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile featured on more than one GQ cover. “Well, get in! Our boy is waiting.”

_Our boy._

Now there’s something Bucky never thought he’d hear coming out of Captain America’s mouth.

Bucky gives a jerky nod and shuffles quickly to climb into the back seat. It’s a lot roomier than it looks from the outside.

“James, right?” the Black Widow practically purrs as she captures Bucky’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, but you can call me ‘Bucky.’ It’s nice to meet you, uh, Ms.--”

“Just call me Natasha,” she says, smirking in a strange knowing way that’s unnerving.

“Right, Natasha. Nice to meet you,” Bucky says as he discreetly wipes his sweaty palms along the side of his jeans.

The car peels out like they’re in a drag race. Bucky holds on for dear life as Natasha runs lights and passes illegally. To his surprise, she stops for pedestrians.  
Bucky’s phone vibrates in his back pocket. He pulls it out and sees half a dozen texts from Becca.

Bucky texts out that he’s fine and that he’s on his way to visit Steve and will text or call later once he has more information. When he looks up, they’re passing GWU hospital.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks.

“Georgetown Hospital,” Sam replies. “Tony has a set of suites set up there.”

“Tony Stark?” Bucky asks in surprise. But of course. Of fucking course!

“The one and only,” Sam says. “He’s got dibs on the most secure suite in the most secure hospital in the area. Steve will get the best care there.”

Bucky’s stomach lurches at the phrase ‘best care.’ “Is he gonna be OK?”

“He’ll live,” Natasha says flatly as she glances up at the rearview. “He got lucky. The shooter missed his vitals, the bullet grazed a rib. Mostly superficial lacerations.”

“Mostly,” Sam says. “Ironically Steve’s healing ability makes surgery a little complicated. They don’t have anything powerful enough to safely knock him out, so he has to…” Sam abruptly stops speaking and just stares out the window.

Bucky looks up at the rearview to get Natasha’s attention. When her green eyes finally meet his, she sighs and explains what Sam was trying to say.

“Steve has to stay awake while they try to get the bullet out. His healing factor complicates things because his body keeps trying to absorb it or push somewhere else.”

A wave of nausea washes over Bucky as he imagines the excruciating pain of getting shot and undergoing repeated surgical cutting as tissue fights to heal around the bullet.

“Did they catch the guy who did it?” he asks, desperate for some good news.

“Yeah, we got him,” Natasha says. “He’s in custody.”

“True Patriots,” Sam practically spits. “Racist conspiracy nuts. I told Steve those guys were more than just talk.”

“To be fair,” Natasha says. “Their operations are supposed to be based in the Northwest. We didn’t know they had East Coast cells, until today.”

“Speaking of which…” Sam says, raising his hand to his left ear.

That’s when Bucky notices the nearly invisible earpiece.

“Clint, has the sparrow been moved?”

Bucky leans in, but he can’t hear anything in Sam’s ear.

“Great, thanks,” Sam says before turning to Natasha. “Sparrow’s all settled into the new nest, right next to the eagle.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Are you talking about Christine? Did they move her to Georgetown too?”

Sam looks back and smirks. “Not bad. Army right?”

Bucky nods. “First Sergeant.”

Sam nods. “Well Sergeant, until we can get a handle on how many dumbasses are a part of the DC cell of True Patriots, the operation plan is to round up all soft targets related to Steve and get them to a secure suite at Georgetown.”

“So you know?” Bucky blurts out in surprise.

The indignant glare Sam gives Bucky is almost comical. “ _Yes_ , just because he's your boyfriend, doesn’t mean you’re the _only_ one he confides in.”

Bucky sputters. “Steve’s not-- we’re not--.”

“I mean, yeah he told you first,” Sam barrels on, waving one hand. “But you don’t have to get cocky about it.”

A strange strangled noise escapes Bucky’s mouth. He doesn’t even know what to say to _any_ of that. Is Sam jealous… of him?

Natasha’s eyes widen as they meet Bucky’s in the rearview. She’s enjoying this.

Scooting all the way back, Bucky tucks into the corner of the backseat until he can’t see her watching him.

They get to the hospital faster than they have any legal right to, especially since they pass a police station on the way.

Bucky’s nerves are frayed. Despite what Natasha said, he needs to see Steve for himself, to make sure he’s alright.

Georgetown Hospital looks like any other hospital on the outside with its white brick and American flag. But on the inside, it’s a lot bigger and brighter than any Bucky’s ever seen.

A nurse in green scrubs greets them at the door and asks for Bucky’s ID. She types Bucky’s name into an electronic notepad while Sam grills her.

“Is he still in surgery? How’s he doing?”

“He got out of surgery about ten minutes ago, Mr. Wilson,” the nurse replies. “It went well. He’s healing very quickly. He’s been moved to Suite A upstairs.”

“Take us to him, please,” Natasha says.

The nurse types something into the notepad and then tells them to follow her. She leads them down a long hallway until they hit a dead end. The nurse presses her hand against the exposed brick and it opens up down the middle, revealing a steel elevator.

Bucky tries to hide his awe since the other three probably think this is normal.

Inside the elevator, there are no floor numbers, just colors, a dial pad that resembles the kind on a telephone, and a large scanner. The nurse types a code into the dial pad and then has each of them put their hand on the scanner.

“You’re all cleared for red now,” she says as she presses the red button. “You only have to do that once.”

Everyone mumbles thank you and the elevator shoots up. Within seconds the doors open to a bright expansive hallway. They step out onto a plush green carpet that looks like it belongs in a posh hotel.

They pass two fancy doors with crystal doorknobs and approach two robots that look a lot like grayscaled versions of Tony Stark’s Iron man suits.

The Iron Man robot things are standing guard in front of a large fancy wooden door.

“ID please,” one of the robots says, looking right at Bucky.

“Come on, man, he just got cleared downstairs,” Sam complains.

“I’m sorry, Captain, these are Mr. Stark’s safety protocols for all unaffiliated visitors,” the man says.

Sam rolls his eyes and Bucky pulls out his wallet again. The robot looks between his driver’s license and his face and then hands Bucky’s ID back. The robots each grab a handle and open the door. The nurse leads them inside of a large foyer. It looks both fancy and homey with its plush blue carpet, a mahogany console table, and a large stuffed floral patterned bench.

The nurse leads them back through a sizable living room with a large cushy couch and a big-screen television. They continue walking through an impressive kitchen decked out with stainless steel appliances until they reach a short hallway lined with canvas oil paintings of generic landscapes.

Finally, the nurse stops in front of a heavy-looking rustic door and knocks.

“Come in!” says a voice Bucky doesn’t recognize.

The doors open an incredibly large bedroom.

Just a few feet away Dr. Bruce Banner sits on the sill of a large bay window. His legs are folded while he talks to Steve who is lying propped up in bed.

Even injured and on his back, Steve looks like an elite Olympics athlete with his wide chest and his thick sculpted arms. His torso is half exposed and covered in thick bandages and his left arm has an IV running from it and it's being held in place by heavy-duty duct tape. The long hair Bucky was looking forward to touching is pulled up and back behind him, showing off his chiseled face and a slightly swollen left eye. His dark blonde beard is neatly trimmed and Bucky can see he has a nasty cut on his lip.

Off to the side, someone is speaking rapidly. Bucky’s eyes drift to the source. It’s a man wearing a faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and dark blue jeans. He’s pacing back and forth as he talks to a large hologram of an attractive brunette woman. Bucky’s mouth drops open a little when he realizes it’s Tony Stark.

“Bucky?”

Steve is staring at him now and the room is suddenly incredibly quiet. Heat rushes to Bucky’s face as everyone’s eyes turn on him. Caught between sudden bashfulness and the urge to rush to Steve’s side, Bucky gives an awkward wave.

“Hey, Steve.”

“This is him?” a voice says from above.

Bucky glances up and nearly yelps. The archer known as Hawkeye is perched on top of the tall dresser bureau.

“Hi there, I’m Clint.”

“Hi,” Bucky croaks, before looking back at Steve.

“You came,” Steve says, his smile growing by the second.

“Surprise, surprise, he’s a real boy,” Tony says, assessing Bucky from head to toe. “The once-suspected Hydra mole who could have also been a Russian spy.”

“Or a psycho killer,” Natasha offers.

“Or just your garden variety creepy catfish,” Sam chimes in.

“Huh,” Stark says. “And he actually looks like his military photo and that selfie he sent. I still stand by what I said before, it’s statistically improbable for someone to send an accurate pic…”

“And yet, here he is,” Dr. Banner says, giving Bucky a friendly wink.

“Lucky for Steve, he’s even prettier than his pictures,” Natasha says, smirking.

“Pretty enough to get shot for?” Stark asks.

“Tony…” Steve says in exasperation.

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me,” Stark says sharply. “Steve, we told you these nuts were out for blood. And what do you do? You walk right back into the lion’s den without giving us a head’s up.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I called.”

Crossing his arms in disapproval, Sam huffs. “Yeah, you called _after_ you got here. You’re lucky we’re even in town right now, otherwise, you’d be in a general hospital with wack ass security and the media outside your window.”

Steve winces. “Look, guys, I appreciate the concern and I’m sorry, alright? I’ve been living under the radar for almost five years with no problems. I guess I just overestimated my cover.” He says the last part while looking at Bucky.

It hits Bucky then that Steve is blaming himself for getting shot. Bucky steps forward, desperate to put that idea to rest.

“This is my fault. I should have done some recon. I could have--”

“Bucky, no,” Steve says, cutting Bucky off. “This is all on me.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Stark says, scrunching up his face. “As touching as this is, enough with the blame game.”

Steve gives Tony a baleful glare. “You started it.”

“I know, but now it feels a little ridiculous. Besides, you’re OK, so let’s just count it as a lesson learned. No more spontaneous dates without backup,” Tony says, pointing at Steve. “Now that that’s settled, we should take this time to get to know your new friend a little better.” He turns to Bucky. “You live in the area, right? Adams Morgan? How do you like editing? Do you write too?”

Stupefied that so much of his life is coming out of a stranger’s mouth, Bucky is speechless.

“Ooo-k,” Stark says slowly with a quizzical look. “Apparently James Barnes is a man of few words.”

“How did you know my full name?” Bucky blurts out. “And how did you get my military photo?”

Stark’s lips twitch. “Come on, look at who you’re talking to. I know where you live and work too, buddy. Remember that.”

“Tony…” Steve warns.

Stark throws up his hands. “I’m not making threats. I’m just saying if you were a secret honeypot sent to lure Steve out of hiding so he could be assassinated, I could find you anywhere and end you. Hypothetically, of course.”

Bucky gapes at Stark, both shocked and impressed.

“Oh my god, Tony,” Bruce says at the same time Steve exclaims “Tony, stop it! Bucky, please ignore him.”

“We can interrogate James later,” Natasha says, giving Bucky a sly smirk. “I wanna hear more about Steve’s cover. I had no idea you grew your hair out. Are you hanging out with bikers now?”

Steve looks back at her in confusion. “What?”

“He totally is,” Clint says with a grin. “Which club did you join?”

“My vote goes to the Nomads,” Tony says. “That’s why you have that Gmail handle, right?”

“No, my Gmail has nothing to do with that because I am not in a biker gang or club or whatever you call them,” Steve protests.

An argument breaks out about which biker gang Steve probably belongs to. Sam argues that Steve isn't in a gang because he's a very successful webcomic illustrator and Clint asks why can’t he be both? Bruce points out that most biker gangs are involved in organized crime, which is not very Steve-like at all. Tony puts forth a theory that Steve has joined a biker gang under the guise of keeping an eye on criminal activity so he can live out a repressed desire to be a bad boy, which he says also explains why Steve was online looking for hookups.

“That’s not why I was online!”

Once again Steve’s protests are drowned out as his teammates’ speculate about his online activities and his other possible cover identities.

Steve looks to Bucky, his eyes pleading for help. Bucky ducks his head to hide his smile.

The bickering goes on for quite some time until Natasha turns to Bucky and asks for his opinion on whether Steve has a secret biker identity.

They all stop talking, waiting for Bucky’s response.

“Uh...” Bucky looks over to Steve, who is shaking his head vigorously. “I trust Steve, whatever he says he does, that’s what he does.”

“Thank you!” Steve says like he’s won an argument.

Tony makes a comment about bias and contrary supporting evidence which launches another discussion about other reasons Steve might have chosen to grow out his hair. _That_ discussion leads to a debate about whether long hair is an asset or liability in a fight.

Two nurses enter the room, one of them checking Steve’s IV, and the other writes down his vitals. They ask how he’s doing, and then announce that Steve needs his rest.

Steve visibly exhales in relief.

Dr. Banner unfolds his legs and stands to put a hand on Steve’s unexposed shoulder. “Take care of yourself. We’ll talk soon.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Steve says. “It was really good seeing you.”

Bucky didn’t see Clint jump from the bureau, but suddenly he’s right there, next to Steve’s bed. He leans over and whispers something in Steve’s ear, which elicits a quiet chuckle. Clint pats Steve’s forearm and moves out of the way.

Natasha moves closer, taking his place. She gives Steve a wry smile. “You almost pulled it off. I’m sorta proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes gleam like he’s preening a little. “Told you I could do it.”

“But now we have to think about a new look,” she says. “Your cover’s blown.”

Steve sighs. “I’m tired of hiding anyway.”

Natasha looks back at Sam, who simply shrugs like it’s an on-going conversation. “We’ll talk more about this later. I’ll be in town indefinitely. Gotta watch your six.”

“Me too,” Sam chimes in, stepping up.

“We all will,” Clint says.

“That’s right,” Stark says, drawing closer to the end of the bed. “And I’m putting one of my suits on 24/7 Steve Rogers guard duty.”

“You guys don’t have to do that,” Steve says. “I appreciate you looking after me, I really do, but I’ll be fine.”

“You mean _after_ your bullet wound heals?” Tony says with a flourish of his finger directed at Steve’s bandaged torso. “Pardon us for not taking your word on this one. Don’t worry, we promise not to crowd you. We know you need time alone with your Bucky bear, but we will have eyes on you.”

Bucky frowns at the Bucky bear reference while Natasha slinks her arms around Tony’s and begins to walk him towards the door.

“Get well soon, buddy! We’ll be back!” Tony calls.

Bruce gives Steve a parting smile before moving to flank Tony’s left side. Clint falls in behind them, giving Steve a sloppy salute before turning around.

“Shawarma, Steve!” Tony calls out. “Don’t even think about leaving town until we can get together. You’re invited too, Buckaroo!”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, looking back at Steve in bewilderment.

Steve shakes his head, but there's amusement in his eyes.

Someone clears his throat, and that’s when Bucky notices Sam is still there, standing by Steve’s bed.

“You pull something like this again and I’m gonna personally kick your ass.”

“I know you’re worried about me, Sam, and I appreciate it,” Steve says. “But let’s get real, you can’t kick my ass.”

Sam’s mouth drops open. “I know you’re not talking smack right now, laid up in a hospital bed.”

Steve gives a cocky little shrug then winces in pain from the movement.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought,” Sam says smugly before grabbing Steve’s hand and leaning in close. “Seriously, it’s good to see you, man, even if the conditions are less than ideal. I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Steve whispers. “We’ll talk soon. Promise.”

“Oh, I know we will,” Sam says with a smirk, pulling back. “I'm with Tony on not letting you leave town this time without a proper send-off. Even if we have to bring the shawarma here.”

Steve lets out an exaggerated sigh, but Bucky can see his mouth twitching against a smile.

Looking back over his shoulder, Sam gives Bucky a once over. “By the way, not bad.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide as Steve gives him a sidelong smirk.

“I was skeptical when you first told me about him,” Sam says. “But aside from being a little braggadocious, he seems like a solid guy.”

“I’m not braggadocious!” Bucky blurts out. “You totally misunderstood what I was trying to say.”

“Anyway, I’m out,” Sam says, giving Steve a fist bump. “You have my number. Use it. Later.”

A corner of Steve’s mouth quirks up, “Later Captain, watch your back out there.”

Sam turns to leave but stops when he reaches Bucky. “You take care of him, alright?”

“I will,” Bucky says automatically, thrown by the trust displayed in Sam’s eyes. Up until two seconds ago, he wasn’t sure if Sam even liked him.

“And ease up on the bragging, it’s not a good look,” Sam says as he’s walking out.

“I wasn’t bragging!” Bucky calls after him.

“Bucky,” Steve says. “Sam’s just teasing. That means he likes you.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, his shoulders sagging with relief. He really didn’t want to have to prove to Captain America that he wasn’t conceited. “So he’s sort of an asshole, then?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah. If you couldn’t tell, most of the team is.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Wouldn’t that make you kind of an asshole too?”

“There’s no ‘kind of’ about it,” Steve says with a shit-eating grin.

Bucky snorts. It’s good to see Steve in good spirits, even if he’s laid up in a hospital bed.

“Come closer, I promise I don’t bite,” Steve says, with a small teasing smile.

Bucky's face grows warm as he slowly shuffles over until he’s standing a few inches from the bed. Steve’s gaze is steady as he studies Bucky’s face. Unsure of what to do under the appraisal, Bucky balls his fists at his side.

Steve tracks the movement, which only makes Bucky even more self-conscious. It’s easier to look anywhere else so he starts to study Steve’s bandages.

“Bucky, look at me,” Steve says softly.

Slowly, Bucky raises his eyes until they lock onto blue irises a little darker than his own. Damn, Steve is really handsome.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Steve says. “I’m sorry I ruined our lunch date.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Bucky rushes to say. “The asshole who shot you did. I’m really sorry you got hurt.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah me too.”

“Maybe next time we should get our food delivered.”

It’s a stupid joke and Bucky feels dumb as soon as it leaves his mouth, but Steve actually chuckles like he’s genuinely amused, and Bucky feels slightly accomplished.

“This is definitely not how I pictured us meeting,” Steve says. “But I’m glad we finally get to talk face-to-face.”

“Me too,” Bucky says softly, drowning a little in Steve’s eyes.

They fall silent, wrapped in a blanket of quiet appreciation. For the first time, Bucky notices Steve has a sprinkle of freckles just across his nose, which really is crooked. It makes Steve’s face more interesting than any poster ever depicted. It would be very easy to stare at him all day, and the way Steve is looking back at him indicates he feels the same.

But they don’t have all day because Christine is having a baby. Bucky starts when he remembers.

“Did you talk to Christine yet?” he blurts out.

The brightness in Steve’s eyes dims. “No. They told me she’s here though. Right down the hall, with her mom and…” Steve inhales. “My son… fuck, Bucky. I don’t think I am ready for this.”

Inching a little closer, Bucky says, “I know it’s a lot, especially after what you just went through. But remember, Christine really wants to see you.”

When Steve opens his eyes, they’re stormy with doubt. “But my son, he--”

“He’s just gonna have to accept she wants you in her life,” Bucky says firmly. “There’s a baby on the way. His _grandchild_. If he really cares about his family, he’ll put his feelings aside. And if he can’t, I’ll be right there; I’m not gonna let him ruin this for you.”

“Buck…”

“You don’t have to do this alone, Steve.”

Even through the beard, Bucky can see his Adam's apple working as he swallows hard.

“There’s something else I didn’t tell you.”

Bucky frowns.

“This isn’t all on my son,” Steve starts. “When he told me to forget about him, I was heartbroken, but… a part of me was also relieved.”

Pulling the chair by the monitor closer to the bed, Bucky removes his jacket and wraps it around the back before taking a seat. “What do you mean?”

Steve turns his eyes towards the ceiling. “Bucky, I was born a century ago, but I still look like I’m in my late twenties. My son is 63 and my granddaughter is 31.” He closes his eyes then and tightens his jaw like he’s fighting a private war.

Unsure of what to say, Bucky looks straight ahead towards the window. It’s not like he’s never thought about it before, how old Steve really is, and the way he must struggle with time. Bucky even mentioned it in some of their earlier emails, but Steve always brushed it off and changed the subject.

But now that Steve has laid it out like this, Bucky can see the burden of time and how the consequences of the serum must constantly weigh on him. It’s not a blessing at all. It’s a curse.

“Sometimes I think it’s better this way,” Steve says quietly. “If we don’t talk, I don’t have to deal with the weirdness of seeing a son that looks like he could be my father or watching my granddaughter grow older than she’ll ever see me look. If I don’t get to know them, I won’t have to sit by and watch them die before I do.” A choked off noise escapes his throat and Steve quickly turns his face away.

Bucky clasps his hands and bows his head, at a loss of how to comfort him. It’s not fair, all of this pain Steve has had to endure, is _still_ enduring. But he is sure of one thing.

“Steve, I have no idea how you must feel. There’s no one else in the world like you. I’m sorry you have to go through this. But you don’t have to live in isolation, cut off from your family.”

“Even when the odds of me outliving them are so high?” Steve asks, his voice quivering.

“So… that’s the solution then?” Bucky asks softly. “Go through life alone? No attachments? You told me you wanted to love again. How can you do that if you don’t form any connections? They’re your blood.”

Slowly, Steve turns his face back to look at Bucky, the shadow of sadness and regret eclipsing his face.

“I know that but...” Steve says. “I just don’t want to lose anyone else. Losing my mom and Peggy really hurt, Bucky. At one point I even thought about cutting you off because… because we were getting close, and it scared me.”

Bucky’s heart clenches as he reaches out to cover Steve’s forearm with his hand.

“That’s always a possibility when you care about anyone. No one is promised tomorrow. You’re enhanced, Steve, and I still almost lost you today.”

Steve folds his lips like he’s holding back a sob. Bucky gives his arms a squeeze and leans in closer.

“You know my dad used to always say you can’t really live and not lose anything, ‘cause living means taking risks. And when you take risks, sometimes you lose. But if you never take any risks, you lose by default because you didn’t even try. I think you’d regret it if you lost your family without getting to know them first.”

For several minutes, Steve doesn’t respond. He just stares up like he’s deep in thought.

Finally, he lets out a shaky sigh. “I’m so tired of being alone, Buck.” His eyes turn to meet Bucky’s. “I don’t want to live with regret because I was too scared to lose.”

It takes considerable restraint not to jump up and hug Steve. Instead, Bucky lets the joy filling his heart spill into his smile and the way he caresses Steve’s arm.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks, his voice thick with emotion.

“Hell yeah,” Bucky says, his heart tap dancing in his chest.

Steve tries to maneuver towards Bucky but has to stop abruptly, his face twisting in pain.

“Oh no, no, no,” Bucky says, pushing him back gently. “Easy there, big guy, let me come to you.”

Bucky half rises out of his seat and grips the bed for purchase to meet Steve’s lips. This close, he can see the way the corners of Steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. The metallic smell of blood on Steve’s breath reminds Bucky to be mindful of the cut on his lip. As carefully as possible, Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s.

Steve’s beard is prickly and tickles a little. Bucky quickly gets used to it as Steve’s warm, chapped lips move against his. When Steve’s tongue slips out to tease open Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s knees go weak. Beneath the coppery bitterness of blood, Steve tastes like ginger ale, minty toothpaste, and something distinctly him. Bucky catalogs the flavor, savoring the taste and moans, uninhibited, as Steve deepens the kiss. Steve’s mouth is just as bold as he is, his lips insistent and sure and when he groans in approval, Bucky’s dick moves.

OK, this is getting out of hand. Steve is still injured, he’s in a hospital bed for crying out loud, and they haven’t even been on their first date yet. It takes considerable willpower for Bucky to pull away.

He opens his eyes. Steve is wearing a dopey smile and his eyes are still closed.

“You’ve been drinking,” he whispers.

“I had a glass of red wine at the restaurant,” Bucky confesses.

“Tastes good on you,” Steve licks his lips.

_Jesus._

Steve hums and slowly opens his eyes. They’re bright again.

Slowly, Bucky sits back, adjusting in his seat against the sudden tightness of his jeans.

“I think I’m ready now,” Steve says. “I wanna meet my family.”

Bucky smiles. “Go for it. I’ll be right here.”

“OK,” Steve says, taking a visible breath as he presses the nurse’s red call button.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?” a pleasant voice says from somewhere over their heads.

“Hello, I’d like to speak with my-- with Christine O’Brien-Jarvis, please.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers, she’s in consultation with her doctor right now. I can tell her you called.”

“Oh, I see. Um, is she alright?” Steve asks in a hoarse voice.

“She’s fine. I believe they’ve scheduled an induced birth for 10:00am tomorrow morning. I can double-check for you.”

“Oh, OK,” Steve says in relief. “And uh is….is her father and mother here?”

Bucky slips his hand down to grab Steve's hand.

“Yes Sir, and her brother as well. They’re all staying in the suite next to yours.”

Steve hand tightens around Bucky’s. “Christine has a brother? Ah, that’s… that’s great.”

“Would you like to see them? They’ve been asking about you.”

Bucky nods in encouragement, squeezing Steve’s hand.

“Yes. Yes, I would,” Steve says resolutely. “Tell them I would like to see them as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Sir. They’re all in with the doctor right now, but I’ll let them know when they come out.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, his voice shaky.

The click of the intercom shutting off is almost deafening as Steve and Bucky are left staring at each other.

“This is really happening,” Steve says in disbelief.

Bucky slaps his hands on his thighs. “It sure is. You wanna watch a movie while we wait?”

“That sounds good,” Steve says, knocking his head back against the pillow. “But nothing dark, OK? I’m serious, Bucky. I can’t handle one of your emo indie flicks right now.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky stands to retrieve the remote. “Fine, we’ll watch something ridiculously cliche and sweet. I suppose you deserve that.”

When Steve doesn’t respond, Bucky looks back. His eyes are shining with unshed tears even as he smiles.

“Thanks, Buck.”


	9. Pride and Joy

While retrieving the remote, Bucky finds a cabinet with an Xbox, an assortment of video and board games, a deck of cards, and even a Rubik’s cube. The hospital also has every type of streaming service imaginable and they both still want to watch a movie. 

They argue about _Princess Diaries_ vs. _Ratatouille_. Steve gets his way because Bucky is a sucker for pretty injured men laid up in hospital beds.

Both of them have seen _Ratatouille_ several times so they aren’t really watching it so much as staring at the screen and basking in the chemistry bouncing between them. 

Bucky scoots close to the bed under the pretense it will improve his view of the television while Steve not-so-subtly attempts to get closer but his IV restricts him. It doesn’t matter though—they’re close enough for Bucky to sense Steve’s every move, no matter how slight. For the first ten minutes, Bucky can barely breathe, so hyper-aware of Steve and what he’s doing, but then Steve makes a joke about Remy’s brother which makes Bucky laugh. Bucky points out something that’s always bugged him about the rat’s family and that starts a meta-discussion about the film’s themes. 

Twenty minutes later a nurse practitioner shows up to check on Steve’s progress. Bucky hits pause on the remote while the nurse asks Steve questions and writes down his vitals. Apparently, Steve’s fluid volume has returned to baseline and it’s time to take the IV out. Steve promptly holds out his arm.

The nurse excuses himself, disappearing into the side bathroom. He comes out wearing a pair of blue gloves. After checking Steve’s arm, he asks if Steve would prefer the duct tape removed quickly or slowly. 

“Please rip it off,” Steve says.

Bucky winces as the nurse tears several lines of tape (and hair) away before removing the catheter. He swabs the area with antiseptic and bandages it.

“Do you plan to stay the night?” the nurse asks Bucky.

“Uh…” Bucky glances to Steve, unsure about where they stand.

“He’s staying,” Steve says. “I mean if you want to?”

“I do,” Bucky says quickly, resisting the urge to pump his fist. 

“I’ll tell the kitchen to prepare an extra dinner for you,” the nurse says before leaving. 

With the catheter gone, Steve stretches his arms out and does a little shimmy in bed.

Bucky snorts. “Don’t get carried away. You’re still healing.”

“I’m just a little sore, but I can move around now,” Steve says with a meaningful stare.

Suddenly Bucky’s mouth is dry and he has to lick his lips. “Want me to put the movie back on?” 

“Please do,” Steve says with a sexy smirk. 

Bucky’s stomach does a weird flip and he hits ‘play’ before taking his seat again. There’s nothing subtle about the way Steve scoots all the way over to the edge of his bed until they’re touching. This close, Bucky can smell remnants of cedar and citrus cologne mixed with sweat. The press of their arms is electrifying and Bucky’s entire arm feels like a livewire. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Bucky is certain he can feel the fine hairs of Steve’s forearm tickling him. 

Steve laughs with his whole body and each time he does, Bucky tries to sneak a peek. It’d be nice to kiss him again, but Bucky doesn’t want to look clingy or desperate.

“Hey...” Steve whispers.

Bucky tries to play it cool as he turns his head. Their faces are really close. Steve has flecks of green in his blue eyes and streaks of honey-blond hidden in his dark beard.

“What?” Bucky asks in a strange hoarse voice that doesn’t sound like his own.

The uncut side of Steve’s mouth curves up. “Can I have another kiss?”

Bucky nods, already leaning in. 

This time he expects the rough prickly brush of Steve’s beard and presses closer to feel more of it. Steve’s large hand finds the back of his head and Bucky suppresses a moan. It’d be really nice if Steve would give it a good tug. But that’s for later. Right now, Bucky is content to stay like this, learning Steve’s mouth. Memorizing the way he licks, how he responds to playful bites, what makes him moan. It’s so good, so easy to lose himself in this. Bucky presses forward, trying to deepen the kiss but Steve drops his hand and pulls back. 

“Slow down, we’ve got plenty of time,” he says, with mischief in his eyes.

Bucky hums, narrowing his eyes. “Are you a tease?”

“You have no idea,” Steve says before smacking a big wet one on Bucky’s cheek and falling back to his pillow. 

Lightheaded, Bucky twists back around to look at the screen. His entire body is thrumming like he drank too much Dr. Pepper and it’s hard to even pretend to watch the movie now. 

The intercom clicks. “Mr. Rogers?” 

Bucky mutes the movie as Steve sits up. 

“Yes?”

“Christine and her family are ready to see you now if you’re available.”

A flash of panic crosses Steve’s face but it’s quickly replaced by a more placid expression. Bucky’s not fooled though. He lays his hand out on the bed next to Steve’s leg, palm side up, in a silent offering. Steve doesn’t hesitate to place his hand over Bucky’s, interlocking their fingers. 

“Yes, I’m available,” Steve says with the same austere voice Bucky’s used to hearing from him on the news. “Please send them over.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

The intercom clicks off and Steve exhales loudly. “I have no idea what I’m gonna say to them.”

“How about ‘Hi, I’m Steve, nice to meet you’?”

Steve screws up his face, his eyes uncertain. It makes him look much younger and strangely vulnerable. Bucky strokes the pad of his thumb along the back of Steve’s hand, trying to soothe him. 

Voices from the other side of the suite startle both of them. Bucky hears the thud of the suite’s outer doors closing. 

“Oh shit,” Steve whispers, looking down at himself. He lets go of Bucky’s hand to try and pull the hospital gown over his exposed torso. 

“Stop that. It’s not gonna budge, besides, we’ve all seen your chest.”

Steve’s eyes widen in alarm.

“I mean, you look great,” Bucky rushes to say. “Seriously, you’re really easy on the eyes.” 

The anxious look in Steve’s eyes recedes a little and his frown is replaced by a tentative smile. 

“Thank god, they gave me pajama pants or this would have been really awkward.”

“Not if you don’t get up,” Bucky says.

“Fat chance of that,” Steve says as he sits up straighter.

“Just take it easy, relax,” Bucky says, standing up to put the chair back where it was before moving to stand by the dresser bureau.

They both watch the door as the voices get closer.

“Mom, please put that away.” That’s definitely Christine. “No pictures! We haven’t even met yet.” 

“I just don’t want to miss the moment,” says a lighter, wispier voice. 

“Michelle, please don’t make this any more awkward,” a much deeper voice warns. 

Then they’re right there, standing in the open doorway. Four people. 

Christine sits in a wheelchair, front and center. She’s wearing a flowy yellow house gown that does nothing to hide her full belly. Behind her chair is a guy who looks about her age who shares her high cheekbones and proud nose. Unlike her though, he has dark brown hair and blue eyes. On his right is a pretty older woman they both favor. She’s wearing a hippy long-sleeved t-shirt with bedazzled flowers that match the purple streaks in her short gray hair. The guy on the left is…

 _Holy shit._

Bucky can feel his eyes bugging out of his head. Steve’s son is his spitting image, albeit older and thinner. He doesn’t look anywhere near 63 though, maybe late 30’s or early 40’s at the most with his slight, almost delicate build and neatly parted wheat-colored hair. What really stands out the most is his prominent nose, sharp jawline, and familiar blue eyes. Bucky would bet money this is what Steve would look like if he never received the serum. 

Steve and his son gape at each other in a moment that stretches out for a year. 

Then Christine shrieks and holds her arms. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Noah, push me closer!”

“Noah,” Steve murmurs as he studies the man behind Christine. The guy, Noah, appears frozen as he stares back at Steve. 

“Noah!” Christine demands, looking back at the man.

Whatever trance Noah was in finally breaks and he pushes the wheelchair forward.

Steve throws off the covers and moves to get out of bed but Christine waves him to stop. “No, stay in bed. We’re coming to you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve insists, swinging his legs over the side to put his bare feet on the carpet. Bucky watches his face closely for signs of pain, but even with all of the bandages wrapped around his chest, Steve looks strong.

Still, Bucky inches closer just in case Steve overestimates his recovery. 

Noah stops within a foot of the bed and Christine struggles to stand. Everyone rushes towards her to help her stand. 

“I can do it! Just let me…” She grunts as Noah moves to support her back and Steve grips her hand to give her stability. Standing to the side, her mother covers her mouth anxiously while holding her husband’s hand. 

Finally, Christine straightens out, albeit still a little wobbly, and throws one arm up for a hug. Steve carefully leans forward to wrap a loose arm around her. Bowing his head over her shoulder, he closes his eyes as she buries her face into his arm. 

Bucky watches as Christine’s mother stealthily retrieves her camera and takes a few dozen pictures while her husband stiffly watches on.

The embrace goes on for several minutes until finally, Christine pulls back. 

Bucky’s never seen this much emotion on Steve’s face. He looks overwhelmed as he says in a cracked voice, “Hello Christine, it’s very nice to meet you.”

Christine chokes out a laugh. “It’s nice to meet you too. I’ve waited so long for this.”

Behind her, Noah shuffles a little, holding onto the wheelchair like he needs it for support. 

Christine looks back at him. “This is my brother, Noah.”

Steve’s eyes look misty as he looks at his grandson. “Hello, Noah. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Great to meet you too, uh...” Noah hesitates. “Do you prefer Steve or grandpa?”

For a minute it looks like Steve might have a stroke, his eyes frozen wide and his mouth gaping wide open. He recovers quickly though, giving his grandson a pleased smile. “Either works...whichever one you feel more comfortable saying.”

Noah hesitates for a moment then a small smile blooms on his lips. “I think I like grandpa.”

“Grandpa it is,” Steve says, his teeth on full display.

The sound of more rapid camera clicks draws everyone’s attention. Aware she’s been caught, Christine’s mother slowly lowers the camera with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry, I just didn’t want this moment to slip by without a few pictures.”

“I’m glad you were able to capture it,” Steve says. “Can you send me copies?”

“Of course,” she says, her smile more confident now as she extends her hand. “By the way, my name is Michelle O’Brien. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

“Steve Rogers and the pleasure’s all mine,” Steve says, shaking her hand.

Michelle turns to regard her husband. “David?” 

Steve’s son hasn’t moved an inch since he stepped inside the room. Now that Bucky has had a chance to size him up and watch his reactions to the reunion, he looks less like a stubborn asshole and more like someone who is lost. 

The silence crescendos every minute he doesn’t speak until it’s nearly deafening. 

“David…” Michelle whispers urgently.

Keyed up, Bucky is ready to come to Steve’s defense as he waits for Steve’s son to say something. Christine's face begins to harden as she looks back at her father.

Finally, David clears his throat, “How-- how are you feeling? We heard you got shot.”

Steve blinks like he wasn’t expecting that at all. “Yeah. I got hit in the ribs, but the guy missed all of my important organs.” 

The tightness around David’s mouth loosens along with his posture. “That’s good. I was… I was worried. When I heard the news, I thought…” He blows out a hard breath. “I thought it would really suck to have my father die again before I could meet him.”

Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, and then he gives his son a small tremulous smile. 

David takes a step forward and Christine steps back.

“I’m sorry,” David says quietly. 

“No. Don’t apologize,” Steve says. “I under---”

“Please,” David interrupts. “I’ve wanted to say this to you for nearly two years.”

Steve closes his mouth and gives a nod.

David takes a visible breath and stiffly raises his chin. “I was wrong for shutting you out of our lives. I should have never cut you off from Christine and Noah, or... me. When you called me that night, I was angry.” Shaking his head, he huffs out a humorless short laugh. “I’ve been angry for most of my life, for a lot of reasons, but none of them was your fault and…honestly, every single day since you were declared missing, I’ve regretted what I said to you. I’m so sorry.”

Christine’s face is streaked with tears as she looks back at her father. 

Steve steps forward. “You didn’t have to apologize, but... thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me, and how happy I am to finally lay eyes on you. I’m so happy you’re here.”

They stare at each other for a long moment and then David extends his hand.

“Dad!” Christine says in disapproval. “Are you seriously gonna shake his hand?”

“Christine!” her mother admonishes. “Don’t push. He’s doing good.”

“Better than good,” Steve says, taking his son’s hand.

David looks down at their joined hands and then shakes his head. “My daughter’s right. You’re my goddamn father--well, _one_ of them. I guess a proper hug is in order.” 

He draws back his hand to wrap his arm around Steve's unbandaged side. Joy and amazement light up Steve’s face as he reciprocates and draws his son into a loose embrace. Bucky feels like clapping, ecstatic that Steve gets to have this.

As the hug continues Christine moves in to rest her head on Steve’s arm. Noah seems hesitant until she waves him closer to fill the gap between her and her father. 

Bucky and Michelle share a brief smile and watch on until Michelle gets the idea to retrieve her camera again. Bucky grins as she takes another round of pictures, certain that Steve will want to frame this moment and post it on his refrigerator. 

When they finally break apart, everyone's a little glassy-eyed. 

“We have so much to tell you,” Christine says. “Like _so_ much.”

“Oh no, don’t start,” Noah chides. “You’re gonna scare him away before we even get to know him.”

“I’m not gonna scare him away,” Christine protests. “I just want to catch him up on everything. That’s the best way for him to get to know us.”

“Just make sure you give him the Cliffs Notes,” Noah says before looking to Steve. “Your granddaughter likes to talk… _a lot_.”

“And your grandson likes to pretend he’s a lot cooler than he is,” Christine says, sticking out of her tongue.

“How old are you again?” Noah asks. “I can’t believe you’re about to be someone’s mother.”

“I know you’re not talking, you still sleep with a night light!”

“For your information, it’s called a galaxy projector and plenty of adults have one.”

David throws up his hands as he looks at Steve in exasperation. “I take credit for all of their achievements, the rest is their mother’s fault.”

Michelle smacks his arm.

Steve laughs, it’s hearty and brightens the entire room like the sun breaking through a cloud. 

With a satisfied smile, Bucky starts making his way to the door. He waves at Steve to get his attention. Steve gives him a puzzled frown and Christine turns her head. 

“Just where do you think you’re going, mister?”

Like a deer in headlights, Bucky stops in his tracks. “Uh...well, this is a family moment.”

“Nonsense,” Christine says. “None of this would be possible without you. Dad, _this_ is Bucky.”

David turns to extend his hand. “Hello Bucky, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That takes Bucky by surprise. “Oh, uh, it’s nice to meet you, Sir.”

“Thank you for reconnecting my family,” David says, still holding Bucky’s hand.

“Well, I didn’t really…”

“Bucky, you did,” Christine insists. “Even if it was all a coincidence, you were the link.”

Bucky swallows, overwhelmed as he realizes that in some weird cosmic way, Christine is right. 

Steve looks at him proudly. “He sure is… Bucky and I were just about to put in a call for dinner. Have you guys---”

Christine inhales sharply and looks down at her belly.

“Christine?!” her mother exclaims. 

Noah points down at the floor, where the carpet is darkening. Christine’s slipper socks are getting wet too from the water running down her legs.

“Oh! Oh shit. Oh shit,” she says, protectively cradling her stomach.

Steve turns to press the nurse’s call button.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers?” the nurse says over the speaker.

“My grand--Christine’s water just broke. We need a doctor. Now.”

“We’ll be right there.”

“Alright, calm down, honey, have a seat,” David says, easing his daughter back into the wheelchair. “That’s it, just breathe… breathe.”

Christine grips the armrests and starts taking short breaths. Both her mother and father move in to flank her, rubbing her back and shoulders.

A heavy sob fills the room and Christine’s breathing becomes harsher and erratic. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t,” Christine confesses between short sobs. “It’s gonna hurt. I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”

Bucky’s stomach twists to hear that kind of fear in Christine’s voice. It’s not like her at all.

“Oh honey, if anyone can do this, you can,” Michelle says, leaning over to press her mouth to the top of her daughter’s head.

Chewing on his cuticles, Bucky keeps one eye on his friend and one on the door. Where are the damn nurses? 

Steve crouches down at Christine’s feet and covers her hands with his. “Christine, look at me. You’re going to be OK. From everything Bucky’s told me, I know you’re a fighter. You can do this.”

“That’s right,” David says, rubbing her shoulder. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, present company included and that’s really saying something.”

Steve smiles up at his son, then looks at Christine. “You know what stress balls are, right?”

“Yeah,” Christine heaves out.

“Well, I want you to keep breathing, slow and deep,” Steve says. “And grip my hand really hard like a stress ball. I can take it.”

Christine holds onto Steve’s hands with a white knuckle grip as she tries to control her breathing. But it’s interrupted by a sharp, pained gasp and frantic talk about contractions. 

Bucky jumps at the sound of approaching voices and rapid footsteps. 

“Here they come, Christy,” Noah says to his sister. “Here they come…”

Three nurses enter the room, one of them toting a wheelchair. She folds it up and tucks it in the corner when she sees Christine is already sitting in one.

Everyone starts talking at once, all of them questions. 

The nurses are really efficient at sorting through all of the chatter, addressing the most important questions while calming Christine and her parents down. Despite tremendous pressure, they manage to convince Steve, David, and Noah to wait in the suite. Two nurses escort Christine out, with Michelle following closely behind. She promises to text David soon. 

The same nurse from before remains in the room. He’s more interested in why Steve is out of bed and how he’s feeling.

“I’m fine. I think I’m all healed up actually,” Steve says.

The nurse says that he’ll tell the doctor to come by and confirm whether that’s true. He says in the meantime he’ll send up enough dinner for everyone. 

Once he leaves, Steve sits back down on his bed while David paces the length of the room. Noah moves to sit on the sill of the bay window. 

For the first time since he’s arrived Bucky notices the sky. It looks like it’s close to five o’clock. Becca’s probably worried sick. 

Bucky leans against the dresser bureau and turns on his phone. He has two voicemails and several texts from Becca. 

He shoots her a text that says he’s fine and that Steve is too. Using text shorthand, he explains there have been some exciting and unexpected developments, and he owes her a huge pie and a whole tub of B&J for all the worry he’s caused her. 

Before she can call, he quickly turns his phone off again and puts it away again. Steve gives him a questioning look and Bucky gives him a small smile, hoping it conveys everything is fine. 

They both turn their eyes to David who is still pacing and now wringing his hands. Noah hasn’t moved, still staring out the window. He’s probably worried about his sister. 

Bucky wonders how Christine is doing now if she’s in pain, and how long she’ll be in labor. They could be in this room for a very long time. 

As the minutes tick by, the silence turns heavy and oppressive.

Bucky crosses and uncrosses his arms trying to get comfortable but his feet are starting to hurt.

“Buck,” Steve says, patting the empty spot on the bed next to him. 

With a grateful smile, Bucky shuffles over and takes a seat next to Steve.

David abruptly stops pacing to stand at the end of the bed. Everyone, even Noah, turns to look at him expectantly. 

“I wasn’t blowing smoke up Christine’s ass before to make her feel better,” David says, and Bucky can suddenly see where she gets her spunk from. “She really is one of the strongest people I know. When she was younger she used to be the runt on every sports team. It didn’t matter though, if she got knocked down or hurt, she’d get back up. She even broke her arm once in softball but kept playing until the coach pulled her out. She’s going to be alright.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Steve says with a satisfied smirk. “I could see it in her eyes. She’s a survivor.”

David puffs out his chest and then seems to remember something as he searches Steve’s face. It looks like he wants to say something. Steve turns a little, waiting. 

“This must be really strange for you, to be here with me,” he says. “After telling you to stay out of my life you probably thought we’d never meet and now you’re trapped in a hospital with me.”

“I don’t feel trapped,” Steve says. “I feel really lucky that we get to all be together, and to be honest, a little guilty for putting your family in this situation. None of you would be stuck here right now if I had stayed where I was.”

“ _You_ are family,” David says and Bucky hears the way Steve sucks in air. “And this isn’t on you. Christine outed herself and all of us by calling into that show. She was determined to find you. I know my daughter. She can be very persuasive when she wants something,” he says with a chuckle. “I guess it runs in the family.”

Steve quirks a tiny smile. “I was so excited about meeting her and the baby, I didn’t really think through how disruptive this would be for all of you.” He sighs, his eyes apologetic. “I never wanted to bring any kind of danger into your lives.”

David walks around the bed, pulling up the closest chair and taking a seat so he can talk to Steve, face to face. Bucky shifts in his place on the bed, suddenly feeling like an intruder. He’s about to excuse himself when Steve’s hand shoots out and closes around his. 

David stares at their joined hands for a moment and Bucky braces himself out of habit. God help him if David is a homophobe. 

Instead, David looks up at Steve with a small, curious smile. “Mom used to always say there was a lot more to you than people knew.”

Steve’s eyes fall like he’s thinking about something… or someone. 

“I was raised around danger,” David continues. “Mom and dad, their line of work....” He looks past Steve to Noah. “They tried to shield me as much as possible, but they also taught me to always be careful, cynical, and vigilant. Looking back on it now, I think they were preparing me for… all of this.”

“That makes sense,” Steve says with a nostalgic look in his eyes. “Peggy was always vigilant.”

“Yeah, she was.” David gives a wry smile. “I learned how to disable a grown man when I was 12.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “I’m not surprised.”

“What a day,” David sighs, his shoulders visibly more relaxed.

“What a day,” Steve murmurs.

The air seems to shift as David leans back and slouches down in the chair. “You know I’m actually surprised Christine waited this long to try and contact you. It was always a risk once I told her and Noah the truth.”

Steve looks back at Noah, who simply shrugs.

“I was gonna take it to my grave,” Noah says. “Especially after you went missing. I figured there was no point in dredging it up if you weren’t around. All I’ve ever wanted is to talk to you.”

“Well I’m here now,” Steve says. “We can talk all night if you want or whenever you feel like it.”

“I’d like that,” Noah says with a sanguine smile. 

With this new understanding, a peaceful blanket of silence falls among all of them. But as the silence continues it becomes clear they have no idea _how_ to begin talking. It could make for a very long night and there’s no way Bucky is going to sit around waiting while these three try to figure it out.

Cracking a smile, he stands up and asks, “You guys up for a game of poker?”

They drag one of the room’s decorative end tables into the center of the room and convert it into a poker table. After arguing for ten minutes about poker rules, they finally settle on a game of hold-em. Bucky is just about to shuffle out the cards when a nurse interrupts them with dinner.

The lemon grilled chicken, mashed potato, and roasted brussel sprout dinner is better than most hospital grub, and luckily they are given large portions. They’re nearly done when David receives a text from his wife that says Christine is in labor and it’s going well.

The news brings both comfort and a new tension to the room. Labor can take hours, even a day or two. Bucky recalibrates his focus to think of ways they can pass so much time. A few rounds of poker would be a good start, perhaps after that, they can move to one of the board games to eat away the time. 

After the first round of poker, one thing becomes exceedingly clear -- the Jarvis-Rogers’ clan suck at this game. None of them have poker faces. They’re so bad at this Bucky wishes they were betting real money instead of the Monopoly game cash he lifted from the board game. Still, it’s fun learning each of their tells and watching their bad reactions because they’re all sore losers too. 

Whenever David starts losing he gets real snippy and sarcastic. Quite the opposite, Noah broods in silence, and when he does respond it’s in monosyllables and grunts. Steve is the absolute _worst_ , though. When he gets a bad hand, he frowns and glares daggers at everyone who is taking his money. Bucky has to fix his face several times to hide his amusement. It would probably exacerbate a very fragile but entertaining situation. 

It’s nearly 1am when Noah folds and pulls out of the fourth round of the game for good. They’re all dog tired but still anxious and restless with worry. Bucky’s considering what they can play next when David’s phone vibrates. 

Everyone starts as he retrieves his phone. 

“Stephanie is here!”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Stephanie?”

Noah grins. “Yeah, Christine has been working with us on keeping things gender-neutral. If the baby is biologically a girl, she’s calling them Stephanie, until they decide what they want.”

“I love it,” Steve says. “And how’s Christine?”

“Michelle says she’s really tired.” David moves closer to show Steve the texts. “Look!”

Bucky leans in to see the picture of Christine. Her hair is matted down with sweat and she’s pale but smiling as she looks down at the tiny pink baby who appears to be sleeping. The bed dips as Noah kneels behind them to get a look.

“Wow,” Steve murmurs. “So this is Stephanie.”

“Yep, that’s your great-grandchild,” David says proudly.

So many emotions pass over Steve’s face in rapid succession - wonder, elation, pride, and adoration. 

David presses the green call button and puts it on speakerphone.

“David!” Michelle exclaims loudly. “Did you see the picture I sent?”

“Yes, darling, we all saw it. They’re beautiful!”

“I know! Christine did so good. She was a real trooper. The doctor said it was one of the quickest first-time births she’s ever performed. And there was very little tearing.”

Bucky cringes at the image that conjures up.

“Oh, OK, that’s good...” David says awkwardly, visibly shaking it off. “Um, are you there with her? Can we come down?”

“No, I’m on my way back up. Christine held the baby for a few minutes and then she passed out as soon as the nurses whisked Stephanie away. They’re doing the evaluation right now but said that they’ll bring them back to Christine’s room in about an hour. The doctor suggested we just get some sleep since Christine is knocked out anyway. We can visit her and the baby in the morning.”

“OK, that sounds good,” David says tightly like he’s trying to convince himself. 

Steve must notice too because he puts a hand on David’s shoulder and squeezes. “I think we could all use some rest.”

David exhales. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. We’ll see you soon, darling. I love you.”

“Love you too! Be there in a few minutes!” 

When Michelle arrives she’s a ball of manic energy. She recounts every single moment she was able to witness, gushing about how well Christine did, how smooth the birth was, and how the nurses all complimented Stephanie on her healthy glow and weight.

By the time she’s done, it’s past 2am.

“We really need to get some sleep, Dad,” Noah says, his eyes drooping. 

“You guys can stay if you like,” Steve says. “I think there’s an extra bedroom in the suite.”

“We’re all set up next door,” David says. “We’ll see you in the morning. Both of you, right?” 

“Yeah, definitely,” Bucky says, grateful to still be included.

Steve and his family give brief hugs and back pats. David shakes Bucky’s hand again before making their exit.

Once they’re gone, Bucky gives Steve a big smile. “Damn Steve, you know what this means, right?”

Steve tilts his head in question. “No, what?”

“You’re like the hottest great grandfather ever.”

Bucky isn’t prepared for Steve’s bark of laughter or the way he clutches his chest and holds onto Bucky for stability when he bowls over. 

“Oh god, why was that so funny?” Steve’s turning red as he continues to laugh.

Bucky shrugs. “I think it’s more true than funny.”

As much as he hates to end this party, Bucky knows if he doesn’t find a bed soon, he’s going to collapse. 

He throws his thumb in the direction of the door. “Guess I’ll crash in the guest room.”

Steve’s expression dims a little and Bucky pauses, unsure about what Steve was expecting. 

Is Steve going to ask him to stay? In here, with him? Where would Bucky sleep?

Steve blinks as if coming back to himself, giving a jerky nod. “Good idea. You look like you’re gonna pass out.” 

“I just might,” Bucky says with a tired smile.

“They said it’s fully stocked,” Steve explains. “Bathroom, towels, and if you need anything else, there’s a call button.”

“OK, thanks,” Bucky says as disappointment and relief collide. As much as he’d love to sleep near Steve, he’s too tired for sexual tension or what may come after. 

“Well…. have a good night,” he says, slowly backing up towards the door.

Steve looks wistful as he watches Bucky. “Good night, Buck. See you in the morning.”

Within minutes of crawling into bed, Bucky is out like a light. He wakes up to his cell phone alarm blaring at 6:30am. It’s a crime against nature to be up this early on a Saturday. Bucky’s writing group doesn’t meet until noon, so he can get a few more hours. He rolls over to go back to sleep but something is off about the bed. The mattress is too soft and the sheets are too starchy. And then he remembers.

He’s in a hospital because Steve got shot and Christine had a baby!

Bucky grabs his phone. Becca sent him several angry emojis late last night. It’s too early to call right now, but promises himself to call her around 10am.

After taking a very long, hot shower, Bucky lounges around in bed, scrolling through his social media feeds, and catching up on the latest writing group entries. Everyone is talking about Steve and the assassination attempt. People are speculating about where he’s been all this time. There are even a couple of sound bites from Rob and the possibility that the woman on his show might have been telling the truth. Apparently, Rob has had a change of heart and would like Christine to give him a callback. Bucky rolls his eyes.

Around 8am Steve knocks on his door to tell him they’re bringing Christine and the baby up along with breakfast. He’s got his hair pulled back in a much neater ponytail and he’s wearing a very new looking gray henley and khakis that show off his amazing physique. Bucky really appreciates the way he fills them out. 

A tint of pink stains Steve’s cheeks as he looks down at himself. “Tony sent some clothing. It’s a little tight.”

“Nah, fits just right. You look like you stepped out of a Calvin Klein commercial.”

That pink blush turns red and Steve turns his back to retreat. “Be ready to go in 5.”

Smirking, Bucky calls out. “Aye, aye, Captain!”

Five minutes later they’re heading down to the suite next door. When they arrive, everyone is gathered in a loose circle.

Christine looks radiant in a pink and blue house gown. Sleeping in her mother’s arms, baby Stephanie is an angelic cherub, blithely unaware of being the center of everyone’s attention.

They take turns holding Stephanie while Michelle photographs everything. Bucky's heart flutters to see how careful and tender Steve cradles the baby. Hypnotized by the love and adoration in those blue eyes, Bucky can’t take his eyes off of either one of them.

Someone in the room starts sniffling.

“Are you crying?” Noah asks Christine.

“No! I have allergies,” Christine says, wiping her eyes. 

They all laugh and after a little more cooing and pictures, they tuck into the breakfast that’s been prepared for them. 

The conversation flows easily. They ask how Christine is feeling and she talks about how she’s doing compared to what all the books she’s read said she would be doing. That leads to a debate about what’s true and false when it comes to being a new mother, the advice of the nurses vs. what Michelle experienced. They talk about what the next couple of weeks will look like, what Christine can expect, and how they can help her. 

Inevitably it leads to a discussion about Steve and security protocols for the family. Surprisingly, none of them seem bothered by the new precautions they have to take. Bucky gets the distinct feeling that Christine went on Rob’s show with her family’s blessing. 

Steve announces that he’s extending his stay. Absolutely thrilled with this news, Bucky’s mind immediately jumps to all the things they can do together. Bucky still wants to reschedule their date for Das Ethiopian, and then for their second date perhaps they can go to _Vegz_. Maybe they can squeeze in a few trips to some of the area museums too. Of course, Becca will want him to come by to have dinner. Maybe Steve could even spend the night. 

Before Bucky’s daydream becomes too unwieldy, he remembers this isn’t about him. Steve came here to spend more time with his family. He can’t forget that. Struck by the sudden awareness that he could mistakenly distract Steve and hog all of his time, Bucky finishes his juice and makes excuses to leave.

“You don’t have to go,” Steve says, standing with him.

“I really should. Becca’s probably super worried. I’m 24 hours overdue for a date report. Plus, I have my writing group at noon.”

Steve gives a tight-lipped smile, the disappointment clear in his eyes. “Try not to make me sound too bad when you give your report.”

“You get a B+. Try not to get shot next time.”

Biting back a smile, Steve nods. “I’ll work on it. Hopefully, I’ll see you soon?”

“Definitely. You still owe me a real date,” Bucky teases.

“I do,” Steve says. “And I intend to wine and dine you properly.” 

“Good,” Bucky says, beaming. “Oh and Christine, I’ll be around to visit you and Stephanie soon.” Bucky gives her a parting hug, cooing one last time at baby Stephanie. 

Christine gives him that no-nonsense look of hers. “You better. We still have a book to finish.”

Bucky huffs. “I think you might have more important things to worry about now.”

“Don't try to weasel out this, Bucky. You owe me a full draft of your story. A promise is a promise.”

“Ugh, you see the kind of pressure I’m under here?” Bucky says to Christine’s family, who all give him knowing looks. 

“See you guys later,” Bucky says before turning for the door. 

When he glances back, they’re all looking down at baby Stephanie again. Everyone but Steve, who is staring right at him. 

“Call me later?” Bucky mouths while miming the universal call sign.

Steve gives him an enthusiastic nod. 

Satisfied, Bucky slips out of the room and exits the suite. On the elevator ride down, he retrieves his phone to request a Lyft, swaying to the rhythm of hope and excitement for what lies ahead.


	10. Don't Label This

Becca corners Bucky as soon as he gets back. He can barely get an inch of space to grab a piece of toast and a cup of tea as she interrogates him for a blow by blow account of the previous day.

Truthfully, it’s a relief to get it off of his chest. Bucky’s emotions are all over the place and he’d like his sister’s thoughts about dating Steve. Although Bucky would never come out and tell her that. He’s counting on Becca’s penchant for offering unsolicited advice.

Once Bucky recounts every last detail of the past 24 hours, Becca smacks her forehead.

“How is this even possible? Steve Rogers comes back from the dead, gets shot by some crazy domestic terrorist, has a secret family he’s been estranged from, and somehow _you’re_ involved in all of it?”

“Hey, I had nothing to do with the shooting!” Bucky objects.

“He got shot on his way to meet _you_ , for a date!” Becca says. “That’s insane! Mom and the girls are gonna freak when they hear about this.”

Oh no. As much as Bucky loves their mother and younger sisters, none of them can keep a secret to save their lives. Now that his sisters are spread out all over the country, telling even one of them would be like calling up TMZ.

“Becca, please, do _not_ tell them or _anyone_ else about this,” Bucky pleads. “If this gets out before they’re ready, it’s gonna make everything worse. Besides, Steve and I are still figuring things out. It would be _so_ embarrassing for the press to label us something we aren’t.”

Becca takes a sip of her tea, watching him over the rim of her mug, her stare feels like an infrared scanner. Bucky adverts his eyes away from her.

“Are you both trying to figure things out, or is it just you?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably.

“You’re really into him, aren’t you?”

Suddenly the couch looks super fascinating. Bucky’s never noticed the small ridges in the blue micro fabric.

“Bucky…”

“You already know the answer,” he mumbles.

“Does _he_ know?”

“I guess,” Bucky mutters. “I mean we kissed a couple of times.”

The non-committal hum Becca gives isn’t exactly comforting.

“Where do you see this going?” she asks.

Bucky runs his fingers along the couch, watching the fabric turn from light to dark over and over. “I told you - he promised to take me out on a proper date soon.”

“And then what?” Becca presses.

“I don’t know!” Bucky blurts out in frustration. “I don’t have a crystal ball.”

Becca purses her lips, her expression suddenly all business. “Bucky, I know you. You’re not built like me. You don’t do casual.”

There’s a fraying thread in the fabric of the couch and even though Bucky knows he shouldn’t, he begins to pick at it.

One of the benefits of being Steve’s pen pal was that it was simple and easy. Yes, there was chemistry, but it was always under the surface and at a safe distance. Being in a relationship with Rob conveniently allowed Bucky to avoid dealing with it. There were no messy complications like going out on a great date and falling head over heels only to discover Steve might not be that into Bucky, or that he might want something less serious. There’s also the troublesome issue of Steve living in another state. Long-distance relationships suck.

Bucky’s excitement about dating Steve begins to wither. Their chance at having a romantic relationship is tenuous, at best.

Just as his mood begins to take a serious nose dive, Becca sets down her mug and leans back, lolling her head against the couch so she can catch Bucky’s eyes.

“It’ll be fine. I just think you need to be honest with yourself and with Steve about your feelings but also where you are right now. It’s great you guys are going to date, you deserve to have some fun. But take it easy and remember you just got out of a relationship.”

Reluctantly grateful for his sister’s sage advice, Bucky sighs. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t want to just jump into something the way I did with Rob. I’m not even sure if that’s what Steve wants.”

Becca cups her ear. “I’m sorry what was that? Can you repeat the first part? Something about me being right?”

“Ugh, you really are the worst,” Bucky says, turning his body away from her to kick up his feet.

Becca snaps her fingers. “Not on my coffee table!”

“Alright, take it down a notch, Miss bossy-pants,” Bucky says, giving her some side-eye.

“It’s all a part of being a big sister,” she says, smirking.

Reaching around, Bucky grabs a throw pillow and wacks her upside the head.

“Oh my god, I am gonna _kill_ you!” she says, lunging at him.

Bucky yelps loudly and tries to fend her off but she manages to get a hold of his throat. Bucky gags loudly in exaggeration. Becca’s eyes go wide with startled worry and she eases off. Seizing the moment, Bucky puts her in a headlock. Becca cries foul, struggling to get out of it. Bucky maintains his hold, waiting for her to concede defeat. But Becca brings her elbow down dangerously close to his balls and out of self-preservation Bucky is forced to release her.

“Breathing hard there, bro,” Becca says victoriously while smoothing down her hair. “I guess that’s what happens when you get old.”

“Keep talking,” Buckys says with a withering glare. “Payback’s a bitch.”

“Oh whatever, you love me!” she says, throwing her arms around him.

Bucky shakes his head, but he can’t deny she just pulled him from the brink of a serious funk about his uncertain future with Steve. They sit in easy silence with Bucky collecting his breath while Becca rests her head on his shoulder.

“Hey…” Becca says, pulling back. “Who do you think sent that envelope? With the jump drive.”

“I dunno, Steve said it could have been anyone but he also said he’s glad it came out.” Bucky rucks up the sleeve of his shirt to try and get at the sudden dull throb of pain in his tricep.“I’m just grateful that it happened. I would’ve never met him otherwise.”

“Aww...” Becca ruffles his hair, giving him the same look she gives to stray kittens.

Bucky angles his head away from her petting. “ _Anyway_ , enough about me and Steve. How was your Friday?”

“I spent most of my Friday worried about _you_ , doofus!” Becca says, scowling playfully. “So it sucked ass, but Evan did come by to cheer me up for a little while.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Why do get the feeling you’re about to overshare?”

“Not any more than you have,” she says, hitting his arm.

“Excuse me but you _asked_ for details,” Bucky points out.

Becca crosses her arms and sticks out her bottom lip with a petulant huff.

“OK,” Bucky says in resignation. “Tell me about this Evan guy.”

This dude must be something special because Becca goes on about him for nearly a half an hour, which is a new record. She usually only spares time to talk about the ones that fuck up, but so far it sounds like Evan is doing everything right.

“So when I am gonna meet him?” he asks.

Becca pulls a face. “Not so fast. I like him, but he hasn’t earned meet-the-family privileges yet.”

“So many rules,” Bucky sighs. “This is why I don’t like dating.”

“Just don’t mess with people like me,” Becca says, patting his knee. “Steve seems like he’s just your speed. The only rule you have to remember is to be clear about what you want and who you are so you guys are on the same page.”

“OK, I heard you the first time,” Bucky grumps. The tea in his stomach feels like it’s souring as he thinks about all the ways that particular conversation with Steve could go. Queasy, Bucky grabs the throw pillow and hugs it close.

He can feel Becca’s concerned gaze.

“Are you going to your writing group today?” she asks.

Bucky grunts a non-answer, earning him whack on the thigh.

“I was thinking about skipping it,” he admits. He doesn’t even need to look at his sister to know she’s judging him.

“You know sitting around the house worrying about Steve is not gonna help your anxiety. It might be good to get out of the house and do something you enjoy.”

“I guess,” Bucky says.

“Great!” Becca says, standing to stretch. “‘Cause I have a yoga class at noon, we can leave together.”

She goes to the coat closet and pulls out a purple rolled-up yoga mat and places it next to the door.

Bucky scrunches up his face at the idea of exercising on a Saturday. “Yeah you do that. I’m gonna go take a quick nap.”

Becca gives him a suspicious look as he makes his retreat.

As soon he closes the bedroom door, Bucky sits down on the bed and turns on his laptop. The internet is on fire with talk about Steve’s return, speculation about where he’s been, and domestic terrorists.

Thankfully, the FBI and Avengers have rounded up all members of the local True Patriot DC cell. But there are other groups out there just like them and it makes Bucky’s blood boil that Steve and his family will always have a target on their backs.

There’s an entire Reddit forum dedicated to dissecting the interview with Rob’s mystery caller. People pointing out clues and theories, even conducting amateur voice analysis. On Twitter, the snowboarder Spencer O’Brien and news anchor Lyra O’Brien are trending, probably because they’re both blonde and close to Christine’s age.

Some of the suggested candidates for Steve’s granddaughter are really far-fetched, like reporter Soledad O’Brien who is over 50, and Conan O’Brien’s daughter who isn’t even 18. That last one makes Bucky actually laugh out loud. Somewhere out there, someone actually thinks Conan O’Brien is secretly Steve Rogers’ son.

Only one news source comes close to figuring it out. To Bucky’s chagrin, it’s TMZ. Luckily, Christine is not the main focus of the article, she’s one possibility on a list of four. But her headshot and bio are posted alongside one of her charcoal sketches. It’s the picture of the disembodied womb with the baby Hydra. Even if Bucky didn’t know the truth, that sketch alone is rather telling.

Beneath the picture is a sound bite from a guy claiming to be the father of Christine’s child. Bucky scowls, wondering how much he got paid to blab his mouth. So far, none of the other news sites have picked up the TMZ story, and hopefully, it remains just speculation.

Bucky checks his email and cell phone. No new mail or texts.

He tries to lie down and take a nap, but his mind is too crowded with worry so he looks for a new distraction and ends up taking another long shower. After getting dressed, he packs his messenger bag and bundles up for the weather before calling out to Becca.

“I’m outta here!”

Becca opens her bedroom door, dressed in her yoga gear. “Leaving kinda early.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna check out a tea shop near the library,” he says, which is a lot easier than admitting he’s restless.

“OK, well have fun with your writing group.”

“Yeah, and you have fun with your… yoga,” Bucky says. “I mean if that’s even possible.”

“I’m taking you with me next time,” she says with an evil grin.

“Stop threatening me,” Bucky says, making a cross with his fingers as he walks backward to leave.

“You’ll love it!”

“Never!” Bucky declares, shutting the door behind him before she can make real plans that involve him and yoga.

It’s a nice day, a little chilly but sunny. The smell of charred meat is heavy in the air, probably from the barbeque place on the corner. This neighborhood looks so different from his old one, a little dirtier and much more cramped with so many restaurants and bars in such a short radius. Cars line up in the street searching for a place to park and the sidewalks are crowded with groups of people on their way to eat or shop. Kids do tricks on their skateboards, maneuvering their way through the pedestrians and panhandlers.

Eyeing the congestion on the street and sidewalk, Bucky considers whether to drive or not. Dot is parked in the perfect spot just two spaces down from the front door to Becca’s apartment. It’s worth the cost of another Lyft to not lose that spot, so Bucky whips his phone out to summon one.

As he waits, the purr of a small jet flying overhead draws the attention of the kids on the street. They begin pointing up and Bucky tilts his head back to see what all of the fuss is about. It’s not a jet or a plane. It’s a…robot.

Specifically, a grey Iron Man robot like the ones that stood guard at Steve’s hospital suite door.

The robot actually looks down to give him a thumbs up and then it circles around the block once before shooting off like a rocket. Blinking in shock, Bucky debates running back to tell Becca, but then his Lyft pulls up.

Seriously, what is his life right?

With a few minutes to kill before the writing group starts, Bucky stops into a small tea shop on the corner. After ordering a pumpkin chai and a slice of spice cake, he takes a seat at the window.

It’s strange, looking out at his old neighborhood like a visitor. The brightly colored rows of townhouses and fancy apartments are a little posher than the gritty urban feel of Becca’s neighborhood. There are just as many eateries and shops but somehow everything seems more spaced out and the changing trees line the sidewalks and multi-colored leaves falling gives the whole setting a cinematic feel.

It occurs to Bucky that coming back for the writing group each week increases his chances of running into Rob. But just the thought of joining a new writing group and building rapport with new people is exhausting and Bucky makes the decision not to leave his writing group out of fear of running into his ex.

After finishing his snack, he purchases a bag of pumpkin spice tea and heads towards the library.

There’s always small talk before the group officially starts. Unfortunately this week, Steve’s return and assassination attempt dominate the conversation. Bucky nods along, expressing surprise like everyone else, even as his anxiety begins to climb. Finally, the group leader calls the meeting to order, and Bucky feels like he can breathe a little easier.

It’s a great meeting, better than usual. The group always reads a published short story before they begin to critique, but today’s reading is controversial. Bucky loves a good debate and after it’s over they critique two really good submissions.

When the meeting ends, the only person who leaves is the group leader. Everyone else still wants to talk, and for once Bucky feels comfortable enough to linger. Someone suggests they continue their conversation over lunch so they end up at the taqueria down the block. They order margaritas and small plates and pick up the earlier discussion about the controversial reading.

They argue about the author’s intent and style which leads to a friendly dispute about whether _The New Yorker_ has gone to shit. Eventually, everyone reveals where they’d like to see their work published. Bucky insists it doesn’t matter for him, he just wants to see his novel in print _somewhere_. They ask him how far along he is, and Bucky puffs out his chest a little when he announces he’s nearly finished. Someone orders another round of margaritas to celebrate. Bucky is getting rather tipsy, and it’s pretty awesome.

By the time he emerges from the restaurant to get into his Lyft, the sun has moved across the sky. It’s still cold but Bucky is warm from alcohol and his group’s encouragement. A year ago, he would have never pictured going out for drinks with his writing group. The unexpected afternoon camaraderie was comforting in a way he didn’t know he needed. Yes, he’s over 30, single, with a mundane job, a bad arm, anxiety, and a pooch belly. And he may or may not be dating Steve and their relationship may or may not go anywhere. But Bucky’s life isn’t over. Far from it. Who knows what lies in store for his future? For the first time in a long time, Bucky is truly hopeful.

Back at Becca’s he finds a note on the kitchen table that says she’s out with friends and probably won’t be back until late, and there’s leftover curry chicken in the fridge.

After drinking half a gallon of water, Bucky stretches out on the couch and puts on Netflix to binge a recommendation from someone in his writing group. The show is called “Lucifer” and it’s pretty damn good. Combined with the alcohol, good vibes from the afternoon, and a new show, Bucky almost forgets to worry about Steve.

Then his phone vibrates on the coffee table.

Steve’s name flashes in bright white letters and Bucky nearly brains himself on the edge of the coffee table in his rush to pick it up.

Collecting his breath, he tries to sound relaxed when he answers.

“Hey, Steve, what’s up?”

“Bucky, hey! How was your day?” Steve sounds excited to reach him, once again, reminding Bucky this is not the kind of guy he has to put on airs to impress.

Smiling, Bucky stretches back on the couch. “It was pretty good, actually. Had drinks with my writing group. How was yours?”

“That’s great. I’m glad you had fun. My day was _amazing_. I keep pinching myself, wondering if this is all real. We’re leaving the hospital now.”

Steve’s voice fades a little like he’s muffling the phone. Someone close by is speaking to him, it sounds like Michelle.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

“That’s alright,” Bucky replies. “Are you guys going back to Christine’s?”

“No,” Steve says in a surly voice. “Did you see TMZ?”

Bucky winces. “Yeah.”

“We think it’ll be safer for her and the baby if they stayed with her parents for a while, so that’s where we’re going now.”

“Oh, yeah, good call,” Bucky says.

“We have to set up security protocols. I’m probably gonna spend the night but tomorrow I’m heading over to Tony’s safehouse to get settled in there.”

Bucky rises up on his elbows, suddenly concerned. “What happened to your hotel? Was it compromised?”

“We’re not sure, but it’s better to not risk it. I can’t hide out forever but I need to regroup and think about how I want to handle this, so I’ll be there until I come up with a plan. If you want, I’d love to have you over. Maybe we can have brunch or something?”

Bucky may or may not kick his feet in the air like a kid in a candy store, but there’s no proof of it, and he will never admit to it.

“Ah, yeah, sure,” he says, trying to project more chill than he feels. “That sounds great. I love brunch. Um, what time?”

“I’m thinking around noon?” Steve says. “Is that too late for you?”

“Nope, that’s perfect!” Bucky says a little too quickly. “I like to sleep in late on Sundays anyway.”

“Good,” Steve says. “I’ll have someone come by and pick you up.”

“Oh no, don’t do that,” Bucky says, imagining the awkwardness of being escorted by an Avenger. “If you’re worried about privacy, I can drive.”

“I think they really want to scope out your sister’s place, just in case.”

“Pretty sure your buddy Stark already did that,” Bucky says. “One of his robots flew over Becca’s today.”

Steve groans. “Sometimes Tony can be a little overzealous.”

“Says the man who stole a plane to rescue his friends from behind enemy lines,” Bucky teases.

“Right,” Steve says with a smile in his voice.

“I get it though,” Bucky says, swallowing down his nerves. “If I had the resources, I’d do everything I could to make sure you were safe too.”

Steve makes an appreciative sound. “It’s good to know you have my six.”

“Definitely,” Bucky says, grinning. “Along with everyone else apparently. Is your team gonna follow you and your family around for a while?”

“Just for a few days,” Steve explains. “They have to get back to their normal duties soon. But we have a network of people inside the FBI & CIA that look out for family and significant others.”

“I’m glad to hear they’ll be protected,” Bucky says.

“So are you and Becca,” Steve says. “I mean, even if you decide you don’t want to... date me, you and your sister will still be in the ring of protection.”

Biting his lip, Bucky pushes down the urge to tell Steve that he _definitely_ wants to date him, but then he recalls Becca’s words about the conversation he and Steve need to have. He’s not quite ready to broach that topic yet.

So all he says is, “OK.”

“OK,” Steve repeats softly.

Neither one of them speak for several long moments and Bucky wonders what Steve is thinking about, if dating for him means what Bucky wants it to mean, and if just thinking about these things is a sign Bucky wants too much, too fast.

“Well, our ride is here,” Steve says finally. “I’ll try to text or email you later tonight. But if I don’t we’re definitely on for tomorrow. Sam or Natasha will be by to pick you up.”

Bucky nods even though Steve can’t see. “Yeah, great. Have a good night, Steve, and enjoy your family.”

“I will. Talk to you soon, Buck.”

With the alcohol wearing off and the promise of spending time with Steve tomorrow, Bucky is bubbling with new energy.

Syncing up his phone and soundbar, he decides to try something different. For over a year now, Bucky has been listening to the same playlist. He tells Spotify to create a new radio station based on one of his favorite folk songs. The first song that plays is unfamiliar to his ears, but the melody is pretty and it has him humming as he turns on the stove to heat up his teapot. After setting up his laptop at the kitchen table, he digs through the cupboard to search for some chocolate granola goodness for his writing breaks.

After fixing a mug of his new pumpkin tea, Bucky has everything he needs to sit down and write.

He ignores his outline and just starts typing. It’s not the ending he planned for his story, but it's the _right_ ending. Usually, Bucky agonizes over word choice and placement and sometimes it’s like trying to extract blood from a stone. But not tonight.

Everything is flowing, the words come easy, pouring out of Bucky like his priest is whispering in his ear. By the time he finishes, it’s a little after 10pm.

Slightly dazed, Bucky barely registers the low grade throbbing pain in his left tricep as he stares at the words _‘The End’_.

Something wet is on his face. Bemused, Bucky raises his hand and feels the tears. He’s not sure when they began or what they’re really about, but they keep coming, sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto his keyboard. Bucky smiles even as he tries to wipe them away.

“I finished,” he whispers.

A wild exhilaration takes hold and he throws his head back to make a loud whooping noise.

“I finished!” he shouts triumphantly.

The neighbor next door bangs on the wall and screams, “Shut up!”

Completely unrepentant, a bright burst of laughter tumbles out of Bucky. He grabs his phone and sends a text to Steve.

His phone immediately buzzes with several texts in a row.

Grinning like a loon, Bucky switches from the somber folk station to one that plays 90’s pop. He turns up the volume and dances with the kind of abandon he had before he enlisted.

Immersed in Britney Spears choreography, Bucky doesn’t know Becca’s watching him until he turns to do a pelvic thrust.

Bucky squawks like he’s been doused with ice and jumps so far back he nearly crashes into the television. Becca laughs until her face is red.

“What the hell, Becca?” Bucky gasps, still trying to recover.

“I was about to say the same thing,” Becca says, still chuckling. “I haven’t seen you dance like that in ages. Are you drunk?”

“Not anymore,” Bucky says as he spreads his arms out wide. “I finished.”

Becca scrunches up her face. “Finished what?”

Dropping his arms, Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “What do you think?”

“No! You didn’t?” Becca exclaims, jumping up and down.

Bucky nods. “I did.”

“Oh my goodness, Bucky! That’s amazing!” She walks over to pull him into a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks,” Bucky says.

“No really, this calls for a drink.”

“Oh no,” Bucky says, waving her off. “I drank like a fish earlier. It’s still in my system.”

“How about some tea?” Becca offers. “I got a special stash of hemp-infused stuff.”

Bucky points an accusatory finger at her. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

“Oh hush,” Becca says. “All that matters is that I’m sharing it with you now.”

They drink hemp tea and talk about their day. Becca makes Bucky read one of his favorite passages of his manuscript to her. She smiles and tells him it’s beautiful, and then she asks when the priest gets to fuck his boyfriend or if that’s written off the page. Bucky refuses to dignify that with an answer and Becca teases he’s being strangely prudish for someone writing priest porn.

“It’s not porn!” Bucky exclaims, which only makes Becca cackle.

It’s nearly midnight when they finally decide to retire.

Bucky keeps his phone near his pillow just in case Steve texts or calls but passes out within minutes of laying down.

The vibration of an incoming text wakes him up. He squints to read the screen. It’s 1:13am.

Bucky rubs his eyes and texts back.

The phone rings once and Bucky answers it mid-ring.

“Hey,” he says, closing his eyes again.

“You sound like you were sleeping,” Steve says skeptically.

“Now how could I be sleeping and talking to you at the same time?” Bucky asks, stifling a yawn.

Steve huffs. “I knew it was too late to contact you.”

“It’s not!” Bucky protests. “Come on, Steve, we’ve talked later than this. Now tell me about your day.”

“Hmm, OK. Well, it was good. _Really_ good,” Steve sounds like he’s smiling from ear to ear. “I feel so comfortable around them. After you left we just sat around and talked and fussed over baby Stephanie until me and Christine got cleared for release. Then we picked up some Italian take out, came back here, and spent the whole night looking over photo albums. They have so many photo albums, Buck. Pictures of Peggy and Howard I’ve never seen before. There was even one of Peggy and my old team gathered at a memorial service for me,” Steve’s voice waivers on the last word and he pauses before saying, “It’s incredible.”

Bucky’s heart swells to hear him so content and affected. “I’m really happy for you, Steve.”

“It’s so much better than I ever imagined it could be,” Steve says. “It feels like... like I’m meeting people I already know in ways I can’t describe, but at the same time, I _don’t_ know them at all so there’s still a lot to learn. That probably doesn’t make much sense.”

“No, I get it,” Bucky says as he thinks of his sister sleeping next door. “Sometimes with family you just _know_. There’s times when me and Becca can look at each other and have an entire conversation without saying a word.”

“That’s pretty neat. How is your sister doing?” Steve says. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

Bucky rolls over onto his side. “She’s doing good. She’s really looking forward to meeting you too. I think you guys are gonna hit it off. Which reminds me... is everything all settled? With your son?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “After everyone went to bed, we had another really good chat. I’ll tell you a little bit more about it tomorrow but I’ll let you go back to sleep now. I’m tired too. I just wanted to say congratulations on finishing the story. I'm so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

Bucky does a little happy wiggle underneath the covers. “Thank you, but I think your granddaughter had a little something to do with it. Now she owes me the colored versions of those sketches.”

“I look forward to seeing the whole thing,” Steve says.

“Give me a few days to clean it up,” Bucky says. “And I’ll send you a draft.”

“OK,” Steve says. “I have something I want to show you too.”

Intrigued, Bucky presses. “What is it? Tell me.”

“I will,” Steve says ominously.

“God, you really are a tease, aren’t you?” Bucky says, his mind helpfully supplying more salacious ways Steve could be one.

“You’ll find out soon,” Steve says, his voice suddenly husky.

“Oooh, wait!” Bucky tosses onto his other side. “Do you mean I’ll find out what you want to show me? Or I’ll find out how much of a tease you are? Because those are two very different things, Steve.”

Steve chuckles low and sexy. “Goodnight, Buck.”

“Steve...”

“Sweet dreams...”

“Geez, way to leave a guy hanging,” Bucky complains. “OK, fine, good night. See you at noon.”

“Noon,” Steve says before hanging up.

Bucky sleeps soundly and wakes up refreshed and very hungry. He has brunch at noon with Steve so he doesn’t want to ruin it. A little snack can’t hurt though, besides Becca has been cooking and ordering food for him and it’s time for him to pay her back.

He listens for any sign that she’s up and when he doesn’t hear anything he quietly tiptoes into the kitchen to retrieve all of the ingredients for her favorites - cinnamon raisin pancakes with cheesy eggs and sausage links. Using his skills of stealth, he quietly digs through the cabinets, gathering everything he needs to cook.

Six perfectly round pancakes and six sausages links later, Becca shuffles into the kitchen.

“What’s _this_?”

“Breakfast,” Bucky says as he sprinkles grated cheddar cheese into the eggs he’s scrambling. “Water’s already hot. Go ahead and grab some tea while I finish this up.”

“Ooo-la-la,” Becca says in a faux sadity voice. “Very fancy, _monsieur_ , whatever did I do to deserve such service?”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling. “Absolutely nothing.”

A dishrag hits his back and Bucky snickers. “Hey, no abusing the cook!”

Becca scoffs as she comes around his way to pour some hot water into her mug.

“No, really,” Bucky says, his tone more serious. “You deserve way more than this. Thanks for putting me up and taking care of me. I really appreciate it.”

Smirking, Becca bumps her hip against his. “You’re such a sap. Probably still on a cloud from finishing your story.”

Bucky ducks his head, trying to hide his smile. “Yeah, I gotta admit, it feels really good to finish a novel. I’m pretty stoked about visiting Steve too.”

“Oh right!” Becca says, her eyes lighting up. “You have to tell me about this safehouse when you get back. Try to get a picture of it.”

“No way! That would totally defeat the purpose of having a safehouse. What if someone hacked into my phone or stole it?”

“No one is checking for your phone, Bucky,” she says, taking a seat at the table.

“Not yet,” Bucky says. “But you know how this works. If Steve and I continue to be friends or date, eventually I’m gonna get sucked into the whole gossip reel. I gotta move smart now.”

“You’ve been giving this a lot of thought, huh?” she says, smirking around her mug.

Bucky doesn’t reply to that, choosing instead to focus on finishing the eggs. After plating a nice portion of everything for his sister, Bucky makes his tea and grabs two sausage links to hold him over until brunch.

They talk about Becca's plans for the day (going back to sleep and meeting her friends at a sports bar to watch the game), and about the Giants’ abysmal record. Bucky is in full rant mode about the stupid head coach when the loud buzz of the intercom interrupts him.

Becca’s brow furrows as she looks back at Bucky. “Are you expecting someone?”

“Oh crap!” Bucky says, suddenly remembering what Steve said about sending Sam or Natasha to pick him up. He rushes to the front door to speak into the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Hello James…” comes a cool reply.

“Uh, hey, hi, Natasha!” Bucky looks back at his sister who flails and scoots back from the table to run back down the hall. “I’ll be out in just a minute.”

“Bucky let her in!” Becca calls from the bedroom, where he can hear her rummaging through her closet.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky presses the intercom button again. “You can wait up here.”

He buzzes her in and then rushes back to his bedroom to make sure nothing embarrassing is laying around. Becca re-emerges from her bedroom in a spiffy fuschia tracksuit and her hair artfully pulled up in a ponytail.

“How the hell did you get changed so fast?”

“Practice. Keep up, bro, and help me clean up!”

They start running around the apartment like maniacs, scooping up plates in the living room and running a broom over the kitchen floor. 

Both of them are slightly winded by the time Natasha finally knocks. Becca stands close by, watching as Bucky opens the door.

Natasha is a femme fatale vision with her black leather jacket, skinny black jeans, and black leather riding boots.

“Hello, Natasha, uh, please, come in,” Bucky extends his arm inside to welcome her.

“Thank you,” Natasha says, her eyes canvassing the room quickly and landing on Becca.

“This is my sister, Rebecca,” Bucky says, looking back. Becca smiles and extends her hand. “Becca, this is Natasha.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Natasha says as she shakes her hand.

“Likewise. I have to say, I’m a big fan of yours. You kick ass,” Rebecca gushes.

“I appreciate that,” Natasha says with a twinkle in her eyes. “Thank you.”

They stare at each other, with curious smiles. It’s kind of freaky and Bucky’s not sure he likes it.

He clears his throat. “I uh, wasn’t expecting you to drop by this early.”

Natasha does this doe-eyed thing that looks _almost_ apologetic.

“Sorry, I must have overestimated how long it would take to get here.”

Bucky nods even though he knows that's bullshit. “I'll just take a quick shower and get changed.”

“OK,” Natasha says.

As he’s retreating he hears Rebecca offer her a cup of tea.

Bucky makes quick work of taking a shower. He changes into the only other decent outfit he brought with him, a red henley and a pair of black jeans. He’ll have to drop by his old apartment soon to collect the rest of his things before he and Steve go out.

He stuffs his wallet in his back pocket and walks back out into the living room, completely unprepared for the sight of his sister and Natasha sitting on the couch, talking in hushed tones. Their body language is very open as they face each other with a mug of tea in their hands. There’s a lot of smiling, _too much_ smiling.

Oh no, no, these two cannot become friends.

“Alright, I’m ready to go!” Bucky declares loudly, breaking up their conversation as he makes haste to retrieve his ski jacket and beanie cap.

Natasha smirks and puts down her tea.

“Thanks for your hospitality,” she says.

Becca smiles. “Anytime.”

Glancing between the two of them, Bucky wonders how he got stuck in the twilight zone.

“See you later, bro,” Becca says, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “And have fun.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, wondering exactly what she and Natasha were talking about. “Uh-huh. I’ll see you later.”

“Just keep your phone on and respond when I text you!” Becca calls after him.

Natasha is driving the same sleek sports car. Bucky buckles up and sits as stiff as a board while clutching his seat belt as she takes off, wheels squealing.

There’s music playing, but it’s really low and Natasha isn’t saying anything, so Bucky is super uncomfortable.

How does one make small talk with The Black Widow?

“You can relax,” Natasha says. “I’m not gonna grill you.”

Sliding his eyes to the side, Bucky tries to subtly appraise her.

“Seriously, chill out,” she says, glancing at him. “I wouldn’t be taking you to see Steve if we had concerns.”

Bucky exhales a little and loosens the iron grip on his seatbelt. “So where are we going?”

“Manassas.”

“Stark has a safehouse in Virginia?” Bucky asks in surprise.

Natasha checks her side window before swerving in front of two lanes of traffic. Bucky bows his head and says a silent prayer.

“Yep. There’s plenty of land and lots of federal agents who live in the neighborhood.”

“That makes sense.” Bucky tilts his head listening as a familiar syncopated melody and low steady beat jogs a memory. “Is this Code Red?”

Deadly green eyes turn to look through him. “How do you know that?”

“I used to dabble,” Bucky explains. “Had a big EDM phase back when I served, collected stuff from all over. Australia, India, Eastern Europe.”

Natasha stares through his soul with a cynical gaze before a mask of indifference covers her face.

“Cool,” she says, returning her eyes to the road. Despite her aloof vibe, Bucky gets the distinct feeling he just surprised her, in a good way.

“Do you have an EDM playlist?” she asks.

Bucky grins, pulling out his phone. “Do I? Check this out.”

The safe house is weirdly in the middle of everything and nowhere at the same time. They pass rows and rows of suburban homes and townhouses before turning onto a private drive that goes on for at least a mile. There are thick trees and water on either side of them which reminds Bucky of a moat.

Finally, they stop at an iron gate that looks locked until it slowly begins to open. Leaning forward, Bucky gawks up at the large gray house ahead.

It’s huge, at least three levels, with three white garage doors. Bucky wonders what part of the house Steve sleeps in because there are different _wings_ to this place.

As the car rolls closer, the large decorative wood front door opens.

Steve looks good in his form-fitting faded blue jeans and black henley. His long hair is pulled back loosely, and several strands fall prettily against his face. Bucky sighs quietly, trying to hide how utterly taken he is with this man.

“You’re just as bad as he is,” Natasha says.

OK so maybe his sigh wasn’t so quiet.

Suddenly Bucky’s face is very warm so he turns to look out at the estate grounds. It’s all foliage and neatly trimmed hedges against the backdrop of an expansive forest. Bucky is certain Stark has the entire parameter rigged with sensory security devices.

Natasha puts the car in park and Steve walks closer, a tentative smile on his face as he stares through the windshield at Bucky.

Bucky waves like a goofball and immediately feels silly until Steve waves back the same way.

Beside him, Natasha makes a small amused noise.

They step out of the car and into the cold air. Bucky shakes off a shiver as Steve’s eyes sweep over him. Steve looks really healthy and there’s no visible evidence he just got shot a day ago.

“Special delivery,” Natasha announces over the hood of the car.

“Thanks, Nat,” Steve says. “Did you have any trouble?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. Smooth sailing, no tails.”

“Good,” Steve says, his eyes sliding to Bucky. “Hey, Buck, glad you could come.”

“Me too,” Bucky says, trying hard to look relaxed, which is really difficult in the face of the nervous excitement coursing through him. The stupid smile he said he would keep in check is back as well. It’s a good thing Steve is smiling too.

Natasha clears her throat, forcing them to break eye contact.

“I have a thing tonight,” she says. “So I’ll send Clint by to pick him up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve says. “I was thinking about taking one of Tony’s cars for a spin anyway, so I can take him back home.”

Natasha looks mildly surprised. “Do you even have a license?”

Steve grins. “Of course. Well, Michael O’Connor does.”

She gives him an impressed once-over. “I taught you well. You boys have fun.”

“Thanks for the ride, Natasha,” Bucky says.

“No problem, James, and don’t forget, you owe me a playlist.”

“Sure thing,” Bucky promises.

She slides back into the driver’s seat and Bucky and Steve watch as she drives away.

“You and Nat are trading playlists now?” Steve asks, looking at Bucky like he just did a crazy magic trick. “How the hell did that happen?”

Bucky shrugs. “She likes Russian EDM. I know a few groups.”

“I didn’t even know that,” Steve says.

“That’s because you're stuck on jazz and yacht rock,” Bucky teases.

“Hey! You’re the one who got me into yacht rock,” Steve points out.

“Please don’t remind me,” Bucky says with faux remorse. Secretly he’s pretty proud he’s had that kind of influence.

Steve’s eyes lock onto his, and for a moment time is suspended and they just stand there, letting the possibilities of what comes next wrap around them.

It’s cold outside, but Bucky can’t really feel it. The heat in Steve’s stare warms him from the inside out. He wants so much. But then he recalls Becca’s words. It’s important not to read into things, he doesn't know what Steve really wants. They still need to talk.

Bucky breaks the intense eye contact to look up at the house. “You said safehouse, this is a mansion.”

Steve glances back at it. “Well, that’s what Tony calls it. Do you want a tour before brunch?”

Smiling, Bucky says, “Yes.”

Steve holds out his hand and a hot ball of excitement unfurls in Bucky’s stomach as he reaches out to accept it. Steve’s hand is warm and big, and his calloused fingers feel good pressing into Bucky’s skin. They sneak glances at each other as they stroll up the walkway and Bucky is pretty sure the fluttering in his stomach has nothing to do with hunger.

Walking into the house, Bucky is struck by how homey it looks. He expected Stark’s safehouse to be austere and techy, but inside the foyer, there are flowers on the entranceway table and a beautiful oil painting of the Grand Canyon. Steve takes Bucky’s coat and hangs it up before grabbing Bucky’s hand again.

“So this is the living room,” Steve says as they step around the corner into a much larger space.

The carpet is thick and plush grey and the furniture is royal blue. With the white wood accents, it has the feel of a luxury resort lodge. A gigantic television sits in the middle of an exposed grey stone wall and Bucky’s eyes immediately zero on the Xbox controller sitting on a nearby accent table.

“We’re playing later.”

Steve grins. “You’re on.”

He leads Bucky throughout the house, his eyes assessing like he’s still trying to get a handle on his own dwelling.

“So are you all settled in, for the most part?” Bucky asks.

Steve looks around. “I just got in last night so I’m still learning the layout, but it’s comfortable. I like it.”

They walk through four levels, one of them a furnished basement with a foosball table, a jacuzzi and a sauna room.

“I think this is my favorite floor,” Bucky says.

Steve smirks. “I knew you’d appreciate the foosball table.”

“If this is Tony’s safe house,” Bucky says. “I can’t imagine what his place looks like.”

“You really can’t,” Steve says. “You have to see it to believe it.”

They take the elevator (!) back up to the first floor where Steve leads Bucky in a completely different direction down the hall and takes a left which spills into an amazing kitchen.

“Whoa…” Bucky murmurs.

This kitchen looks like it belongs on one of those Gordon Ramsay shows Bucky loves to watch.

Not just because of the high tech and sleek appliances, but the kitchen island is packed with every type of breakfast food imaginable -- pancakes, waffles, french toast, bacon, sausage links, sausage patties, hash browns, a huge fruit bowl, fluffy looking scrambled eggs with and without cheese, a large carafe of orange juice next to an impressive selection of tea choices.

“You don’t need to boil water,” Steve says. “Tony has one of those fancy water heater dispensers.”

Dumbstruck, Bucky just stares.

A rosy blush is spreading across Steve’s face and creeping down his neck. Bucky can only imagine how it colors the rest of that amazing body.

“I didn’t know what you liked so I thought it’d be better to have some everything,” Steve explains, studying Bucky's face.

Bucky walks a little closer, still marveling at the feast in front of him. “You called a caterer?”

“Uh, no. Catering would mean inviting strangers here, so… I cooked.”

Bucky does a double-take, looking between Steve and the smorgasbord in front of him. “You made _all_ of this?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve says. “Cooking is sort of a hobby.”

It’s like Bucky is stuck in some kind of fevered dream where a really amazingly beautiful, smart, kind man likes to cook for him. He balls his left fist tightly, sending a wave of pain down his arm.

Nope, he’s awake.

_Damn._

“Did I go overboard?” Steve asks anxiously.

Closing his mouth, Bucky shakes his head vehemently. “No! You did great. This is amazing, Steve. No one has ever made me a breakfast like this. Thank you.”

Bucky’s stomach makes a loud gurgling noise which is amplified by the acoustics of the kitchen. Normally he’d be embarrassed but he’s so right now he doesn’t even care.

He pats his belly. “I did say I was starving.”

Steve grins. “Good thing we have plenty to eat then. Let’s dig in.”

They stack their plates, get their coffee and tea, and sit down at the kitchen table.

Bucky’s not shy at showing his approval of Steve’s excellent cooking skills. He moans a few times, and Steve seems especially interested in those sounds.

Before another heated staring match can begin, Bucky asks about Christine and baby Stephanie. There’s so much pride in Steve’s eyes and he’s noticeably animated as he talks about his beautiful great-grandchild. Steve swears he can see the family resemblance in her eyes and nose.

“It’ll become more apparent as she gets older,” Bucky points out.

“I’m going to learn about all of the stages of development,” Steve says with determination. “I've already purchased a bunch of books so I can be an informed babysitter.”

Bucky laughs. “I’m sorry, that’s great, it really is, but I have to warn you -- nothing you read will truly prepare you.”

He talks about helping his mom with his sisters growing up and how dealing with babies can be really addictive and fun but also very tiring and nerve-wracking. Steve swears he’s ready for the challenge.

That gets Bucky thinking about Christine’s asshole ex. They talk about how crappy it was for him to bail on Christine right before delivery only to resurface and blab his mouth to TMZ.

Steve’s eyes take on a dangerous glint. “I’m gonna hunt him down, make him piss his pants, and then apologize to Christine and the entire family.”

As much as Bucky would love to see that, he knows it would probably only bring more trouble. He talks Steve down and gets him to see reason. With great reluctance, Steve promises to leave the guy alone as long as he stays gone.

Steve reveals that David warned Christine about dating the asshole, but because they were estranged at the time, she ignored his advice. This was all said long after everyone went to bed because the topic is still a sensitive one and Christine is trying to hide how upset she is by her ex’s betrayal.

“It’s good he feels comfortable enough to tell you that,” Bucky says.

Smiling, Steve recounts how he and his son stayed up late talking over a very expensive bottle of single malt scotch whisky that Howard Stark gave to David when he turned 18. David said it was fitting to finally break it open with Steve.

Bucky treads carefully, aware that this is none of his business, but he’s also very curious about what they stayed up discussing. Steve smirks like he has a secret.

“Some of it is really private, but what I can say is apparently when he was young, he was sick all the time, in and out of hospitals just like I used to be. Around 12, he overheard Peggy and Edwin talking about some tests the doctors ran on him. They said something about genetic markers related to his father. He heard Edwin say, ‘looks like he inherited all of Steve’s illnesses.’”

Bucky winces. “What a terrible way to find out.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “David said he barged in and demanded to know who they were talking about, and they told him the truth. He said he felt betrayed and humiliated like he was some sort of experiment. When he was old enough, he decided to bury his entire identity and Peggy helped do it.”

Steve’s eyes drop to the table for a moment and Bucky wonders how Peggy must have felt about helping David do that.

The corners of Steve’s lips turn up again. “He also said that anytime he got angry and went on a rant about it all, Peggy would say he reminded her of me.”

Bucky nods. “I definitely saw some of you in him last night. Both of you are sore losers.”

Steve scoffs. “We need a rematch. Those were warm-up rounds.”

Bucky shakes his head.

“Anyway, David also confirmed some of my suspicions,” Steve continues. “He said that part of his anger was also about always being sick back when he thought he hadn’t inherited the serum.”

Bucky narrows his eyes.“What do you mean ‘back when he thought’?”

Steve shakes his head with an incredulous little huff. “Well, you saw my son. He doesn’t look 63.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Bucky says slowly, recalling his surprise at David’s youthful appearance. “More like late 30’s, _maybe_ early 40s at the most.”

Steve raises one eyebrow. “He said in high school he just stopped getting sick and started feeling stronger. When he joined the track team he broke school records. He went to college on a track scholarship. He also told me that when he gets hurt, he heals quickly. Not like me, but he doesn’t bruise easily and when he does it disappears faster than it does for most people.”

Astonished by what he’s hearing, Bucky nearly gasps. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Steve gives a one arm shrug, but his eyes are alight with something that looks like pride. “I think so. It seems at least some of the serum transferred but it didn’t show up until after puberty.”

It sounds crazy, but not any crazier than anything else Bucky has heard or seen in the past two days.

“What’s that mean for Christine and Noah?” Bucky asks. “And Stephanie?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, his gaze distant. “David said when Christine and Noah were younger they got injured and bruised just like all the other kids. But Noah hasn’t been sick since high school, never, not even a sniffle. Christine had morning sickness, but everyone, including her doctor, was surprised by her ability to work full-time as a waitress and artist up until the last week. Then there’s the fact she had an unusually quick delivery, and the doctor said her recovery was unusually fast too.”

Bucky tries to wrap his head around Christine with super-soldier serum coursing in her veins.

“No one can know about this though,” Steve says gravely. “I don’t want anyone examining them like lab rats. They didn’t sign up for that.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Promise,” Bucky says.

“I know,” Steve says.

They share a private smile and Steve slides his sock-covered foot between Bucky’s feet. Bucky locks Steve’s foot between his own and begins to rub them back and forth. Steve raises his coffee cup to take a sip, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s.

A tingle spreads from their point of contact all the way up Bucky’s legs, and he mentally orders his dick to calm the fuck down. They’re just playing footsie and getting a hard-on from footsie is so high school.

But, god, Steve is hot. Bucky tries to imagine what he must look like with his hair down. It’d be nice to run his hands through it while Steve wrapped those muscled arms around him.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asks softly.

“The food...it’s so good,” Bucky says, taking another bite of his french toast so he doesn’t have to lie.

Steve smiles, clearly pleased. “I’m glad you like it. I enjoy watching you eat something I made.”

Locked in Steve’s eyes again, the food almost gets stuck in Bucky’s throat. The kitchen is suddenly ten degrees hotter, along with other parts of Bucky’s body.

“So what was it you were gonna show me,” he blurts out, trying to steer things somewhere a little safer.

“Oh, right.” Steve wipes his mouth with a napkin and rises from the table. When he disappears around the corner, Bucky grabs a second helping of hashbrowns, slathers them with ketchup, and grabs a bunch of white grapes. Steve comes back a few minutes later with a book in his hand.

The girl on the cover is instantly familiar with her blonde hair, big blue eyes, and lithe frame, only this book is much thicker than any comic book issue. This looks like a graphic novel.

“Moira,” Bucky says, making grabby hands. “Is that a new issue?”

Steve looks unusually shy as he nods. “You can say that. My publisher’s been on my back about creating a new series, so I decided to do something a little different and put the entire new series in graphic novel form.”

Staring at the cover and then back up at Steve, it takes Bucky a few moments before he actually accepts what’s plainly clear.

“You’re Sarah?”

Steve nods, placing the thick graphic novel in front of Bucky.

“Oh! How did I not put that together?”

Steve smirks. “Don’t worry, only a few people have even asked about the connection. And they all think I’m some kind of Captain America fanboy.”

A short surprised laugh escapes Bucky. “This is so cool. I love this comic.”

Steve’s trying hard to look professional and humble, but there’s so much elation in his eyes. It’s easy to see how much Steve appreciates his feedback.

“Open it.”

Bucky runs his hand along the slick cover and slowly peels it back.

Against the bold red background of the inside, there’s a dedication written in all black.

_For Bucky,_

_Thank you for restoring my faith in people and taking chances._

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, his eyes growing misty. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky looks down at the book again, re-reading the dedication. “I’m gonna start reading it tonight.”

“Good. I wanna know what you think before it hits the bookshelves. I want total honesty.”

Splaying his hand across the cover, Bucky nods. “I’m sure I’m gonna love it, but yes, I’ll be honest. Promise.”

Taking his seat again, Steve starts talking about his publisher and agent, how they’ve been riding his ass for more Moira content even though Steve wants to begin a completely new project. That leads to a discussion about publishing and agents and what Bucky might want to consider as he thinks about breaking into the market.

The topic is kind of exciting and Bucky’s grateful for all of Steve’s advice, but just thinking about putting his work out in the world to be judged is ramping up Bucky’s anxiety.

Steve must see it too because he abruptly stops talking about it to ask Bucky what he wants to do after brunch. So many many inappropriate responses pop into Bucky’s head, but jumping from brunch to sucking Steve’s dick would be a bit slutty. Not that Bucky is against being a slut, he just doesn’t want to mess things up before they have “the talk.”

Plus Bucky’s not a horndog. He’s _not_.

Even though it’s been a long time since he’s had good sex. That’s no reason to jump on this beautiful, kind man who could probably hold him up against a wall while fucking him with no effort.

_Goddammit._

“Buck?”

“Huh?” Bucky shakes himself out of his overanalyzing. “Oh, yeah, um, how ‘bout we check out that Xbox. Is that the latest version?”

“Probably,” Steve says.

They bring their plates into the living room and play two rounds of Dragon Ball FighterZ. The food is quickly forgotten as they get caught up in fighting, learning strategy, and smack talking.

Steve is one of the trashiest smack talkers Bucky’s ever encountered, but he backs it all up. Not only is he a fast learner but he’s quick to adapt his playing strategy, learning from both his opponent and his own losses. Bucky’s no slouch either and can go toe to toe with Steve’s insults and fight moves. The longer they play the closer they get on the couch until they're rubbing thighs and bumping elbows. Steve’s bigger than Bucky so when he bumps into Bucky sometimes it actually throws Bucky off of his game.

When Bucky loses the second game, he calls foul.

“You totally cheated.”

Steve looks all innocent when he asks, “How so?”

“You were using your big enhanced body to shove me,” Bucky says.

The asshole has the nerve to look scandalized. “That was totally an accident, Buck.”

Bucky’s not falling for it. “You’re a dirty fighter.”

“Hey, if you don’t want me to touch you,” Steve says slyly. “I can slide over here to put some space between us.”

“I didn’t say _that_ ,” Bucky says, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes.

Steve’s tongue slides out to swipe his lower lip, drawing Bucky’s attention to his mouth. Entranced, Bucky offers no resistance when Steve grabs the controller from his hands and sets it down on the coffee table. Bucky’s heart feels like it’s river dancing as Steve angles his body towards him to give another heated stare.

The couch is so nice and soft and Bucky can easily imagine Steve taking him right here. Or he could take Steve, whatever. Bucky’s not picky. He just wants to touch Steve like a dehydrated man wants water.

“I really like kissing you,” Steve says, his hand just inches away from Bucky’s leg. If Bucky moves his thigh just two inches to the right those big fingers would be brushing against him.

“I like kissing you too,” Bucky says, his voice thick and strange, probably because he’s barely breathing.

Steve smirks. “Good, because I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you got here.”

“Me too,” Bucky says, leaning in.

Meeting him halfway, Steve’s mouth warm and wet and his prickly beard against Bucky’s skin is spine-tingling. Bucky bites back a moan as Steve’s large fingers slide through his hair. God if he would just give it a little _tug_ , Bucky would fall apart.

Using his good arm, Bucky starts to paw at Steve’s chest. He latches onto one of those amazing pecs and just squeezes. Steve has enough to fill a training bra and Bucky just wants to play with them. His fingers explore the terrain until they graze the pert nipple through the henley.

Steve’s filthy moan vibrates against Bucky’s mouth just before he slips his tongue in. They press in closer, Bucky’s left hand clutching Steve’s muscled bicep while he uses his other hand to tweak Steve’s nipple.

Bucky groans as the hand in his hair tightens and then pulls. Fuck yes!

The low dark chuckle Steve gives in response seals the deal. Bucky’s dick is fully alert as Steve gives his hair another tug to pull his head back so he can kiss his way down Bucky’s neck.

Moaning, Bucky begins to lose himself to Steve’s grip on his hair, the sculpted muscles in his palm, and the searing wet slide of Steve’s tongue. He may as well be silly putty, ready to move and bend however Steve wants.

But then what? They fuck, maybe go down on each other, and then Bucky’s gonna kick himself.

As much as he wants this, Bucky wants something steady with Steve even more. Despite his dick’s strong insistence, he tells Steve to stop and gently pushes at his chest.

Steve immediately pauses, his eyes snapping open with heavy concern. “I’m sorry, that was too much, right? I didn’t mean to--”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t too much. I wanted it. I want you.”

Steve’s face reads like he isn’t quite convinced. “Are you sure? I’ll understand if you--”

“Steve! Please, trust me. I was _really_ enjoying that… You weren’t too aggressive at all. I actually like being manhandled.”

With a soft groan, Steve bows his head and Bucky’s eyes widen at the impressive bulge in his jeans.

“Sorry…. I’m not trying to be a tease,” Bucky says nervously, clasping his hands between his knees. “It's just, we really need to talk before we go further.”

“OK,” Steve says with an expectant expression.

Suddenly the words aren’t there. Bucky has no idea where to find them and even if he did, he’s not sure how not to sound like some clingy neurotic freak. Damn it, he’s gonna fuck this up, isn’t he? He should have thought this through last night, written it out or something.

“Buck, look at me,” Steve says.

Forcing himself to stop wringing his hands, Bucky straightens his back and looks Steve in the eye.

“Don’t overthink it. Just talk to me.” The small encouraging smile gracing Steve’s pretty pink lips is somehow enough. Steve is not Rob. He’s not gonna patronize or belittle Bucky or make him feel like a weirdo.

Holding on to that thought, Bucky keeps his eyes on Steve as he says, “I just need to make sure we’re on the same page about what we’re doing.”

“That’s smart,” Steve says.

Bucky swallows. “I really like you.”

“I like you too,” Steve says earnestly.

“I know, but...” Bucky pauses. “There’s like different ways of liking people.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, looking genuinely confused.

Here’s the part where Bucky’s gonna come off sounding like a screwball. He makes a fist with his left hand, focusing on the pain shooting up his arm as he forces out the next part.

“I have a tendency to jump into things,” he explains. “Me and Rob just fell into a relationship after one date.”

“I see,” Steve says slowly.

“I really want to date you, but...”

“You don’t want it to get too serious,” Steve says, his expression suddenly inscrutable.

Bucky shakes his head. “No. That’s just it, I want to be with you, but I don’t want to mess this up by jumping in too quickly. Sex always complicates things for me because I get attached.”

“I see,” Steve says.

This is a disaster. Bucky can tell by the way Steve is looking at him that he thinks Bucky is strange, maybe a little nutty. He’s probably thinking about how to let Bucky down. Great, just fucking great.

“I just... don’t want to have sex with you and get attached only to find out later you want something different or jump into a relationship with you and find out we’re like totally incompatible.”

There, it’s out. He said it. Good or bad, Steve knows how he feels and Bucky will just have to accept his reaction.

“So what do you want?” Steve asks.

Bucky reclines back, his head hitting the back of the couch as he gives Steve a wry smile. “In a perfect world? Right now, I’d like for us to be really great friends with benefits, who also date.”

Steve squints up at the ceiling like he’s thinking. “That sounds a lot like a relationship.”

“I know,” Bucky whines. “I really suck at this… stop laughing at me.”

Covering his mouth, Steve tries to muffle his amusement and school his face into something more serious. He’s only half-successful.

“You think I’m being dumb, don’t you?”

“No, I get it,” Steve says, his face really sobering. “I’m not a casual hookup type of guy either. It’s one of the reasons why I hate dating.”

Relieved, Bucky exhales. It feels like someone turned the pressure valve down on his heart.

“So if neither one of us does casual,” he ventures. “How are we gonna date without rushing into a relationship?”

Leaning back, Steve stretches his left arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against Bucky’s hair.

A shiver runs through Bucky and he has to fight not to lean in closer. This is a serious conversation!

“How about, for now, we just forget about the labels,” Steve suggests. “Forget about ‘the rules’ and just enjoy each other. I honestly think that kind stuff only matters with people you’re not supposed to be with. But I like you Bucky, and I know I want to be around you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“And if that changes?” Bucky asks against his better judgment.

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t see that happening but if it does, then we talk about it. We’re friends first, that’s always gonna be true.”

“Have you ever dated long-distance before?” Bucky asks.

“Sorta, I mean me and Peggy were often on different continents, but that’s not gonna be an issue for us. We’re not even gonna be in different states,” Steve says.

“What?” Bucky’s eyes go wide when Steve gives him a sly smile.

“There’s nothing in Nashville for me,” Steve explains. “I can do my comic anywhere, and DC’s a growing market. Plus um, I kinda miss fighting with my team.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Bucky doesn’t know where to begin. “Wait, so if you moved up here, you’d join the Avengers again?”

Steve shrugs. “Not all the time. I’d probably do what I’m doing now, helping them with information and jumping in when they need back up.”

Shocked, Bucky gapes at Steve. “You’ve been doing stuff with them all this time?”

Steve shifts in his seat. “Remotely, yeah. I tried not to get involved. That doesn’t really work for me. But they only call me when they really need me, which isn’t enough, in my opinion. It's usually information related which is fine, but I wanna fight.”

“But if you move here, you’d be closer to them, so you’d be fighting all the time. That’s...dangerous.”

“So is walking down the street, apparently,” Steve says.

Bucky can’t argue with that, but it still worries him. It takes a few more seconds before the rest of what Steve says sinks in.

“So wait, you’ve already decided to move back?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Me and my family talked it over last night. They want me here, and I want to be here. I wanted to tell you last night, but… I was worried about what you’d think.”

Bucky scrunches up his face in confusion. “Why would I mind you moving here?”

A pink blush spreads across Steve’s face. “I didn’t want you thinking me moving here meant you _had_ to be with me.”

“I would never think that,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “Maybe we’re both overthinking this.”

“Maybe,” Steve says. “But it’s probably because we both really care about where this is going.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, well for the record, I’m really happy you're moving here and I hope that means we get to see a lot more of each other.”

“You can see as much of me as you like,” Steve says, his voice suddenly gravelly.

_Oh boy._

Bucky’s eyes drink in Steve’s magnificent _everything_ from his beautiful eyes to his broad shoulders and big gun arms. When he looks back up, Steve is staring at him again. Suddenly Bucky feels emboldened.

“So, I really wanna have sex with you,” Bucky blurts out, feeling wild and reckless.

Steve grins. “That’s great because I really wanna have sex with you too.” His hand begins to curl in Bucky’s hair, pulling gently. Bucky tries hard not to pant, but he can hear himself gasping for air. He’s in so much trouble. Steve has obviously figured some things out.

“You like this?” Steve whispers, giving Bucky’s hair another tug.

Bucky’s hips jerk forward on their own accord, seeking some kind of friction.

“Y-Yeah,” Bucky breathes.

“What else do you like?” Steve asks, leaning to nibble on his ear.

Bucky grabs onto Steve’s biceps. “Just touch me, _anywhere._ I like your hands on me.”

Steve pulls back, doing exactly the opposite of what Bucky wants. Bucky is about to complain until Steve pulls his henley over his head in one swift motion.

Dear god he’s a vision, his body a thing of beauty with his tight six-pack abs, big muscly arms, and perky tits that are screaming to be pinched. Bucky reaches out with both hands and does exactly that.

“Fuck, Buck… I’m not gonna last long if you keep playing with my nipples.”

Bucky grins. “So we’ll just do it again.”

Steve laughs. “Don’t let your mouth write a check your ass can’t cash.”

Raising his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

Leaning in, Steve plants a big wet one on Bucky’s lips. “Yes.”

“Oh you’re on,” Bucky says, smiling.

Smirking, Steve asks, “Didn’t you say you enjoy being manhandled?”

Embarrassed, Bucky’s hands fly to his face. “Oh god.”

He gasps when he feels his shirt being rucked up, exposing his potbelly.

“Oh no, you weren’t supposed to see that,” he says, his face really burning now.

“Why not? Bucky, you’re beautiful,” Steve says, his breath warming Bucky’s skin.

The rough tickle of Steve’s beard brushing his stomach is going straight to Bucky’s dick. He peeks out between his fingers. Steve is laying half on top of him, staring up at Bucky like he’s been waiting for him to look.

“What are you doing?”

“Appreciating how lucky I am,” Steve says before putting his hot wet mouth on Bucky’s belly button and sucking.

“Oh god, what are you--- oh!”

It’s been so long since he’s been touched, everywhere Steve's mouth and beard touches him is on fire.

Steve continues giving sloppy kisses all over Bucky’s pooch belly until it’s red from beard burn. It burns so good, Bucky is getting really into it when Steve pulls back. The burn turns chilly and loss of contact feels wrong. Bucky cracks his eyes open and finds Steve on his haunches staring down at him.

Damn, he’s pretty with his wispy blond hair escaping his ponytail.

“See something you like?” Steve asks in a smoky voice.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, biting his lips, soaking in the beauty of the man before him. “I wanna see you with your hair down.”

“Hmmm, maybe later,” Steve says. “I don’t want it getting in the way when I suck your dick.”

_Oh sweet Buddha._

“Uh...ok,” is about the most articulate thing Bucky has to say to that.

“Can I take these off?” Steve asks, tugging at Bucky’s jeans.

Nodding quickly, Bucky’s hands fly to his waist. He undoes the top button and rolls down his zipper.

“Thanks,” Steve says like the polite bastard he is before grabbing both of Bucky’s legs to pull him down like a rag doll.

Bucky suppresses a squeal of delight as he lets his body go completely limp, hoping Steve gets the message he’d like more of that. He eagerly lifts his hips to help Steve pull off his jeans.

Oh shit, he’s wearing Batman boxers. Bucky mentally face-palms himself. How was he supposed to know they’d be fooling around?

Steve narrows his eyes as he studies Bucky’s boxers. “You really love that guy, huh?”

Bucky shrugs. “I told you he’s my number #1.”

“We’ll just see about that,” Steve mutters before deftly easing Bucky’s jeans over his feet and casting them to the side.

His eyes do a slow sweep over Bucky’s body. Before Bucky even has a chance to grow self-conscious, Steve dives down and presses his face against Bucky’s dick.

Bucky nearly chokes on his tongue and grasps a hold of the couch with his good hand.

The heat of Steve’s mouth along the ridge of Bucky’s straining dick is maddening. He needs to feel it on his skin.

“Oh shit, Steve,” Bucky gasps.

Steve hums, creating vibrations, and fuck, that’s just plain torture. Unable to tolerate any more teasing, Bucky’s hips begin to move involuntarily, seeking friction against Steve’s face.

Steve’s dirty groan fills Bucky’s ears like this is exactly the reaction he wanted. Even from Bucky’s vantage, he can see the way Steve is humping the couch, getting off on it.

“Take them off, please…” Bucky begs.

Steve chuckles, dark and devious before locking down Bucky’s thighs with a tight grip. He keeps running his open mouth back and forth along Bucky’s straining erection. Moaning, Bucky throws his head back and sinks his left hand into the soft base of Steve’s messy ponytail.

“Steve!”

Finally, _finally_ , Steve eases off. He raises his head with a wicked grin.

“Patience…”

“Fuck that,” Bucky half-laughs. “You’re killing me here.”

Smirking, Steve pulls Bucky’s boxers down far enough to release his dick and cage his legs. Bucky’s dick stands at attention, red and aching, and Steve stares up at it like he wants to devour it.

“It’s so pretty,” Steve whispers as he grabs it at the base.

Bucky digs his fingers into the couch.

“Oh, and before I begin,” Steve says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I like having my hair pulled too.”

“Oh-OK,” Bucky stammers just before the hot wet heat of Steve’s mouth envelopes him.

_Holy fuck_

Bucky’s mouth drops open with a soundless curse. He’s not gonna last long. It’s been months since he’s even been _touched_ sexually, and now with the heavy torso weighing down his legs and the large hands squeezing his thighs Bucky is completely surrounded and consumed by Steve.

His hand tightens in Steve’s hair as he tries to think of other things to slow down the rising tide of his orgasm. But it’s a futile exercise. Bucky can’t form a coherent thought as he experiences the bliss of Steve’s skilled tongue and the amazing suction of that sinful mouth.

Steve moans filthy and loud like he’s really into it. It’s all so wonderfully lewd with the sucking and slurping noises and Bucky could die happy just like this. He pulls at Steve’s ponytail and gets rewarded with Steve pressing down, sucking in more of him until he breaches Steve’s throat.

“Nggghhh…”

Bucky’s mouth is frozen open as Steve continues to gag to try and take more of him in. Bucky opens his eyes and looks down.

With his face flushed red and drool smeared all over his chin, Steve looks _wrecked_. Whatever hair Bucky isn’t holding onto is hanging over his well-defined shoulders. It’s the stuff of wet dreams and it pushes Bucky closer to the precipice of his orgasm.

Trying one last time to stave it off, Bucky stills his hips, but Steve is relentless and keeps sucking.

It’s no use trying to fight it back, the tide of Bucky’s orgasm is about to crash hard. He tightens his grip on Steve’s ponytail and bucks forward, wheezing in a sharp breath when he feels himself sinking deeper into Steve’s throat. He’s so deep now Steve’s prickly beard begins to brush against his balls.

That does it. Unable to hold back anymore, Bucky surrenders to the wave of ecstasy as his entire body seizes up. He’s coming, coming hard, and Steve’s taking all of it, swallowing down everything Bucky’s giving him, making him weaker by the minute.

One more tiny wave ripples through Bucky and suddenly he’s super sensitive and the sucking is too much. He releases Steve’s ponytail and pushes at his shoulders. Steve quickly gets the hint and releases him. He makes an obscene picture licking his lips and looking up at Bucky through tear-soaked lashes.

Bucky stares down at Steve, stupefied.

“Was that alright?” Steve asks coyly, trying, and failing, to look innocent.

Bucky snorts. “You really are an asshole, aren’t you? But you know what? _Fuck_ Batman. I’m getting Captain America boxers tomorrow.”

Laughing, Steve raises up and sits back, wiping his chin. “I’d like to see those on you.”

The bulge in his jeans is still prominent, and Bucky needs to take care of that right away. He pushes down his boxers and kicks them off. Steve gives him a curious look.

“Got any lube?” Bucky asks, sliding his hands over his thighs.

His pooch belly isn’t so hot, but his thighs still have some tone and they’re just the right side of hairy. Bucky’s pretty proud of them.

Steve seems to like them as well, his hungry eyes following the trail of Bucky’s hands. “Yeah, um, wait one minute.”

He jumps up and disappears around the corner. Bucky can hear him rummaging around in the bathroom. When he returns he’s completely nude and his hair is hanging loose and free.

Bucky stares at the perfection before him. Steve looks almost ethereal, with his soft blonde hair framing his handsome face. That crazy hip-to-shoulder ratio is even more amazing on display like this and even though he’s only half-hard he’s obviously well-endowed. Bucky wants to touch him so bad.

Completely besotted, Bucky sighs, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Steve says with a bashful smile. “So um, apparently this came with the house.” He holds up a small bottle of lube with a giant strawberry on the cover.

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky reads the label. “It’s edible?”

Steve nods, smiling as he returns to the couch. “Looks like Tony stocked the house with different flavors.”

“We should have a taste test...for science.” Bucky waggles his eyebrows.

Steve snorts. “I think you and Tony are gonna get along just fine.”

He pops the cap and squirts a healthy dollop into his palm before putting the bottle down on the coffee table. When he sits back, his eyes drift down to Bucky’s thighs.

Feeling slightly exposed, Bucky tries to cover his dick, but Steve isn’t having it. He uses his foot to kick Bucky’s legs open and begins to slather the lube along the inside of Bucky’s thighs. It’s cold at first, but quickly warms and Bucky’s dick starts to fill as Steve gets closer to his balls. But he stops just before touching it and pulls his hands back.

Bucky looks down at himself, his thighs are glistening and sopping wet with lube.

“Stand up,” Steve orders.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Bucky pushes up from the couch to stand awkwardly. He looks down to the side at Steve who is staring at his ass. Bucky bites his bottom lip, trying not to fidget as Steve reaches out to caress it.

Bucky’s dick has fully recovered from the last round and is ready for whatever Steve is planning.

Using his foot to push the coffee table back, Steve stands up to face Bucky. His exquisite dick is rock hard and it bobs with every little movement. Bucky can’t stop staring at it; it’s more impressive than he ever imagined. Without thinking, Bucky reaches out to wrap his fingers around it. It feels like a silk-covered steel rod and Bucky tries to memorize the feel and shape of it in his hand. Steve places his hand over Bucky’s and begins to guide him to stroke it.

Transfixed by the sight of both of their hands working in tandem over Steve’s dick, Bucky is startled when Steve dips down to kiss him. It’s slow and tender, and it feels like an answer to questions Bucky doesn’t dare ask out loud.

When the kiss breaks, Steve leans in, his beard tickling Bucky’s neck as he whispers, “Close your legs for me.”

The order sends a shiver through Bucky as he squeezes his legs together. Steve grabs his ass with both hands, pressing their bodies against each other. It forces Bucky to let go of Steve’s dick and he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck instead.

Steve’s smooth hardness slides against Bucky’s, making his eyelids flutter. Steve is really good at grinding, his hips moving in a dirty rhythm that has Bucky’s body responding back. They move in sync, in tight little circles, until Steve begins to dip a little lower, his knees bending as his dick searches for the gap right beneath Bucky’s balls. Bucky gasps as the fat head of Steve’s dick grazes him, sending wonderful tingles through his body. With Bucky firmly in his hands, Steve pushes himself into the tight slick space between Bucky’s legs.

Burying his face in Steve’s shoulder, Buck holds on as Steve begins to fuck his thighs. He squeezes his legs together as tight as he can, hoping to give good friction. Steve groans his appreciation in Bucky’s ear and it's the best thing Bucky’s heard all day. This is definitely going in Bucky’s permanent spank bank.

Raising up on his tip-toes, Bucky tries to give the hint that he’s OK with being lifted up. Steve quickly gets the message and within seconds, Bucky feels his feet leaving the floor.

Burying his face into Steve’s shoulder, Bucky focuses on keeping his legs pressed tightly together while Steve uses his thighs to jack off. It shouldn’t be so hot, but Bucky can feel himself leaving streaks of pre-cum against Steve’s six-pack.

Steve begins to grunt as his steady strokes become more erratic. Bucky can feel the pulse of the smooth steel sliding between his thighs as Steve approaches his climax.

“Kiss me, Bucky,” Steve pants. “Please kiss me.”

Bucky lifts his head and Steve’s right there. They stare into each other’s eyes, sharing the same breath, pressing their foreheads together. Bucky leans in and Steve captures his lips, giving Bucky a passionate tongue filled kiss.

Bucky’s orgasm takes him completely by surprise. Clinging to Steve, he whimpers into his mouth as he comes. It sends Steve over the edge. Groaning loudly, his fingers dig into Bucky’s ass and he gives Bucky’s thighs three hard pumps.

The wetness of Steve’s come against the slickness of Bucky’s thighs is so fantastically messy, Bucky wants to wipe it all over himself. Maybe that’s something they can explore later.

Steve lowers him back down the floor and gives Bucky one more sweet kiss.

“Damn,” Bucky whispers.

Steve chuckles. “Yeah. Your thighs are really something.”

Bucky bats his eyes and does a faux hair flip. “Wait until you see them in garters.”

The bugged eyed look Steve gives him is absolutely adorable.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Steve says. “I’d like to see that.”

Bucky grins. “Good. Looks like we’re definitely compatible when it comes to this.”

“I think we’re compatible in a lot of ways,” Steve says, leaning in to kiss along Bucky’s cheek. “But just in case, we should do a thorough investigation, spend a lot of time together and go on a lot of dates.”

Goosebumps break over Bucky’s skin and his heart stutters. Steve’s sweet kisses and words shouldn’t have this effect after two orgasms, but they do. There’s just something about _Steve_ that does it for Bucky.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, unable to hide his grin. “How about we take a shower and then start working on it.”

“Oh sheesh,” Steve groans, face-palming himself as he looks past Bucky. “Tony’s gonna have a field day with this.”

Bucky looks back to see what Steve is talking about. There’s a big wet come stain on the back of the couch.

“Ooops…that’s nothing a little soap and water can’t fix,” Bucky says. “If not, we could always cover it with a sheet? Don’t worry about it. We’ll fix it up after we shower.”

Bucky isn’t prepared for how fast Steve moves. One minute he’s standing there looking at a come stain, the next, he’s being hauled over Steve’s spectacular shoulders.

“Hey! No more foreplay. My dick needs a break.”

Steve laughs as he carries Bucky all the way to the bathroom.


	11. Epilogue- Our New Normal

Their first “official” date according to Steve (which Bucky disputes because he insists their hangout at the safehouse was one) takes place a few nights later. They make plans for Steve to pick Bucky up at 10:00pm, which seems kind of late, but Bucky is too excited to question it. 

Steve sends a text that he’s double-parked outside and Bucky emerges from his bedroom in a brand new pink long sleeve waffle shirt with a pair of dark washed jeans he’s still breaking in.

Becca is on the couch watching some singing competition in her silk pajamas. She has a bonnet on her head and her face is covered in some sort of green cream. 

When Bucky goes to the coat rack to slip into his bomber jacket, she looks back at him.

“Where are you going at this hour?”

“Gee, mom, didn’t know I had a curfew,” Bucky snarks. 

Becca scowls as she rises up on her knees to glare at him. “Excuse me for caring…”

Bucky huffs. “Me and Steve are going out to eat.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me?”

“It’s late,” Bucky explains. “I thought you’d be in bed by now. I didn’t want to bother you. He’s downstairs waiting.”

“What?!” Becca says, rushing to stand. Both of her hands fly to her bonnet covered head. “Look at me!”

“Yeah, which is why I didn’t want to make a fuss,” Bucky explains. “He’s not coming up. I’ll invite him over for dinner soon, so you two can meet, OK?”

“Yeah alright,” Becca says, pouting a little. 

“Maybe this weekend?” Bucky says doing his best to smooth things over. “I know he’s gonna love your lasagna.” 

Becca gives him a shrewd look that says ‘stop brown-nosing.’ “OK, go and have fun on your date.”

“Thanks, sis.”

Bucky steps outside and gets struck stupid at the sight of Steve leaning against one of Tony’s more low-key cars, a black 2018 BMW M5. It probably costs more than Bucky’s childhood home, but it still pales in comparison to Steve. He looks yummy in his burgundy chinos, white cable knit sweater, and well fitted brown leather jacket. His hair is pulled back and his beard looks freshly trimmed. As Bucky makes his way down the stairs, Steve pulls off of the car to meet him halfway.

“Evening,” he says in a smoky deep voice that no recording can truly capture. 

“Evening,” Bucky replies, looking up at him through his eyelashes. 

Steve leans in to give a sweet kiss. “Ready to eat?” he asks against Bucky’s lips.

Slowly, Bucky opens his eyes and sees those bright blue irises focused intensely on him. He may swoon a little. 

“Yes. Where are you taking me?”

Steve smirks. “You’ll see.”

There’s not much traffic in DC after 10pm, so it’s smooth sailing and they have easy conversation about their day and what they plan to do for the rest of the week. 

Bucky glances at the side mirror and notices a familiar black Ford GT.

“Is Natasha tailing us?”

Steve glances in his rearview and sets his jaw. “Yeah. Sorry about that. They’re a bit overprotective right now.”

That’s actually reassuring. Bucky tells Steve as much.

“I was going to tell you to stay in the car when we get to wherever we’re going,” Bucky says. “So I could scope out the perimeter.”

Steve takes his eyes off of the road to stare at Bucky. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Bucky argues.

“Well, we’ll agree to disagree on that,” Steve says.

The landmarks they begin to pass start to look familiar and when they pull up to the white exterior and red door of Das Ethiopian, Bucky turns to Steve in surprise.

“This is really sweet, Steve, but this place closes at 10.”

“Not tonight, not for us,” Steve replies.

“OK,” Bucky murmurs, unsure of how to feel about the special treatment. It may seem really cool to most people, but Bucky has worked in the service industry before and knows having to stay past closing for ‘special’ customers sucks.

Steve pulls the car around the side of the building and when they approach the door, Bucky sees the ‘Closed’ sign in the window. 

The front door is opened though, just a little bit, and someone is peeking out, watching them.

“Come in,” says a beautiful brown woman with the cheekbones of a fashion model.

They’re ushered inside where the dining room is lit by low lighting. They’re taken to a table near the back, with a small flickering candle centerpiece. 

The waitress offers them menus and brings them water, and Bucky feels instantly guilty.

When she leaves, Bucky leans over and whispers. “You know she probably wants to go home, right?”

“This was their idea,” Steve says, but his eyes suddenly look unsure. “When I called to make a reservation, they insisted I set this up after hours.”

“It’s not a problem,” the waitress interrupts, startling them. Behind her are two other women and an older man.

“Mr. Rogers, hello, my name is Aman,” the man says. “This is my wife, Desta, and our two daughters, Jamila and Maya. We are honored to host you and your guest tonight. You probably don’t remember us but in 2012, you saved my family. We are originally from Queens, but on the day the aliens attacked we were in Manhattan visiting my brother and his family. You and your Avengers team stopped the aliens from smashing our car as we tried to get out. We left New York a month later. When we learned you were still alive, we were so happy.”

Steve looks taken aback. “I… Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Aman says, with a grateful smile. “Tonight, no payment is necessary. Please order anything you like. We hope you enjoy this small token of our appreciation.”

Steve waves his hand. “No, I couldn’t, please…”

“No, I insist,” Aman says firmly. “Now, if I may suggest something? My favorite dish is the shrimp tibs, with a side of collards and shiro. No one makes it quite like we do. I probably should tell you though, my wife prefers the lamb,” he says, throwing his wife side-eye.

“The lamb is better,” his wife, Desta, says.

Bucky and Steve exchange a smile. 

“I think we’ll have one of each, thank you,” Steve says.

Bucky always worries when he introduces Ethiopian cuisine to someone new because he loves it so much and it would be super awkward and disappointing if the person he’s eating with didn’t like it or found the custom of eating with their hands unacceptable. None of that is a problem for Steve though. He happily stuffs his mouth with everything laid out before them and it looks like he’s enjoying the tactile act of using the injera bread to pick up food. Bucky likes the way Steve closes his eyes when he’s really savoring something. 

“I knew you’d like it,” Bucky says after Steve finishes the last bit of shrimp off and pats his stomach.

“I get the feeling you’re gonna be right about a lot of things when it comes to me,” Steve says quietly.

In the candlelight, his eyes remind Bucky of the ocean and Bucky finds himself staring.

A corner of Steve’s lips turn up as he leans in. “I wanted to take you out for ice cream afterward, but it’s really late, and I know you have to work tomorrow.”

“Now that you mention it, I do feel a little naughty being out on a work night,” Bucky says with a playful smirk. “Maybe we can do ice cream tomorrow? Or… whenever you’re free,” he quickly amends so he doesn’t sound too clingy.

“I’m free tomorrow,” Steve says.

Bucky grins. “Good, me too.”

Over the next few weeks, they fall into a comfortable groove of finding clandestine places to eat, hanging out at Steve’s safehouse, and visiting Christine and the baby.

Bucky really enjoys visiting Christine because it gives him an excuse to see Steve, talk about the next steps for his book, _and_ play with baby Stephanie. It’s the best of almost everything good in his life right now.

Before his second visit, Bucky emails Christine a full draft of his manuscript. She raves all night about how good it is and talks about her ideas for more sketches. They discuss agents and publishing houses while watching Steve cradle Stephanie. The sight of Steve being so gentle and focused on the tiny infant in his big arms never fails to turn Bucky into a pile of goo. 

After Bucky returns from that second visit, Becca greets him at the door. 

“So when am I going to meet him?” she asks with her hand on her hip, looking thoroughly frustrated.

“Soon,” Bucky says, moving past her.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

Bucky turns to look at her in consternation. “Of course not! Why would you say something like that?”

“Because you haven’t brought him here yet?”

Looking to the side, Bucky tries to find the words to explain something he knows he’s been putting off. 

“Bucky…”

Sighing, Bucky clenches his eyes shut and says, “It's really important to me that you guys get along. If you don’t, then... I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

When he opens his eyes, Becca’s staring at him like he’s the dumbest dumbass of all time.

“Why wouldn’t we get along?” she asks.

Bucky gives a one-shoulder shrug. “You hated Rob. You haven’t really liked any of my boyfriends or girlfriends.”

“Well Rob was an asshole. And that’s not true,” Becca says. “I liked Jenna and Aiden.”

“You _tolerated_ Jenna,” Bucky corrects. “And you didn’t hate Aiden, but you didn’t exactly like him either.”

Becca’s eyes soften and she drops her hand from her hip. “OK, I may be a little too critical of who you date. You’re my big brother, my _only_ brother, and sometimes you aim too low. Bucky, you deserve the best.”

Touched, Bucky pulls Becca into a loose embrace and kisses the top of her head. “I hear you. But Steve is the best and I really like him. I guess I’m just worried you’ll find something wrong with him.”

Pulling back, Becca looks up at him with a smile. “I already love the way he treats you. I think we’re gonna get along.”

Bucky squints his eyes as he looks down at her. “Alright…how about I invite him over for dinner Saturday night?”

Becca grins. “Perfect. I’ll cancel my date with Luke and make lasagna.”

“Yes!” Bucky says. “And that garlic bread. It’s _so_ good. Steve’s gonna love it.”

“OK,” Becca says, raising one eyebrow. “But you’re making the salad and buying the wine.”

“Steve doesn’t even drink wine,” Bucky says.

“But the cook does,” Becca shoots back.

Bucky huffs. “Fine.”

The hour leading up to Steve’s arrival at Becca's apartment is spent anxiously cleaning and stress baking. Even though Becca’s already made her special chocolate spice cake, Bucky bakes a tray of chocolate chip cookies just in case Steve isn’t a spicy chocolate type of person.

Steve’s arrival is not nearly as awkward and weird as Bucky had pictured. Bucky does hold his breath a little after introducing them to each other, watching Becca’s face for every micro expression. But as soon as Becca invites them to fix a plate, the tension starts to dissipate. 

Becca’s lasagna is just as amazing as their mother’s and Steve is vocal about his appreciation. He looks relaxed and content as he bites into the garlic bread. Becca smirks when she catches Bucky watching him.

The conversation is easy and engaging. Steve praises Becca’s culinary skills and that opens the floodgates. Becca starts talking about their mother’s recipe and the family, and that gets them talking about growing up in Brooklyn and how much it’s changed. 

It’s not long before Becca starts bringing up old stories about Bucky and his misadventures in the old neighborhood, like the time he and his friends broke into an abandoned brownstone rumored to be haunted, only to fall through the floorboards, which prompted police intervention. Bucky came out of that incident with a broken leg, $1000 fine, community service, and a month of being grounded. There are a dozen stories like that one because Bucky was a bit of a hellraiser until he enlisted. 

Steve is a sponge, soaking up all of this new information while chuckling along with Becca. Bucky really wishes they would change the subject. 

“Stop scowling,” Becca scolds. “You know you were bad. It’s funny now.”

“It’s not _that_ funny,” Bucky says, giving his sister the evil eye.

“Aww, he’s embarrassed,” Becca says with fake sympathy. 

Bucky glares at her but catches the way Steve is smiling at the both of them and somehow that makes his sister’s humiliation more bearable.

“Oh!” Becca slaps the table. “Do you wanna see what Bucky looked like back in middle school?”

“No!” Bucky exclaims, reaching for Becca as she darts from the table. She’s too fast though and the only thing he grasps is air. 

“This is perfect,” Steve says. “I’m learning so much about you.”

“I know,” Bucky sulks before gulping down more wine. 

“Besides you’ve seen pictures of me when I was younger,” Steve points out.

“Exactly,” Becca says, coming back with a large brown photo album Bucky’s never seen before. “Fair is fair.”

“What is _that_?” Bucky says, glowering at the photo album. “I didn’t even know you had a photo album.”

Becca shrugs. “You never asked.”

She sits down and Steve scoots his chair closer to her so he can look. Bucky eyes both of them like the conspiring traitors they are. 

“You know, this is very inappropriate,” Bucky says.

Both Becca and Steve look up to give him matching bewildered looks. 

“I mean, you’re robbing Ma of this time-honored tradition,” Bucky explains. “She’s gonna want to do the whole photo album thing with Steve, but you’re doing it first so now she doesn’t get to have this moment.”

Becca snorts and holds up her cell phone. “Let’s see what she has to say about it.”

Bucky nearly chokes on his bread and waves his hands at his sister as she dials their mother. Steve bites his fist in a failed attempt to cover his amusement.

The call picks up right away, and Becca puts it on speakerphone.

“Ma!”

“Becca?”

“Yes, Ma, it’s me. And guess who is here with me?”

Bucky puts his head down and softly knocks it against the kitchen table while Becca tells their mother that they’re sitting down and sharing her famous lasagna with Bucky’s date- the former Captain America, Steve Rogers. 

Predictably, Bucky’s mother gasps and then proceeds to question all three of them so thoroughly it would probably impress Natasha. Bucky is fine with the questioning, he expected it, but when his mother turns her interrogation to Steve, he wishes the floor would open up so he could disappear. 

She asks if Steve is alright, if he’s completely out of danger, and if Bucky will be in danger dating him. Bucky covers his face for most of it. Steve is a real gentleman, answering all of her questions, and praising her for an excellent lasagne recipe which Becca executed perfectly. 

Bucky’s mom actually _giggles_ at Steve’s compliment and tells him that if he plays his cards right, she will prepare him her special beef stroganoff. Steve says he will do his best to earn that right, which of course was the perfect response. Bucky’s mother tells Steve how happy she is to know Bucky is dating someone decent now. She doesn’t mince words when she expresses she is glad that Bucky is no longer with Rob. This leads to her switching back to interrogating Bucky. She asks if he’s completely moved out because apparently, Becca has been blabbing to their mother about his reluctance to go back and get the rest of his stuff. 

“I don’t need anything from there. I just bought some new stuff the other day,” Bucky says to close the subject.

“I can’t believe you’re buying new clothes just because you don’t want to run into Rob,” Becca says. 

“You should go back and get your things, Bucky,” his mother says. “Just get it over with and leave the key when you’re done so you don’t have to deal with him ever again.”

“I can come with you if you’re worried about being in the apartment alone with him,” Becca offers.

“I’m not worried,” Bucky says wearily. “I just don’t want to deal with it.”

“I can come with you too,” Steve says. “You should get your stuff, Buck. It’s your property, not his.”

Becca grins and Bucky’s mother praises Steve and says that would be wonderful and what a nice young man he is for escorting Bucky. And that’s it, it’s done, apparently, Bucky is going to be visiting his old apartment with Steve to get his stuff. 

Oh god.

They drop by the apartment the following Saturday morning, in an effort to minimize the chance of running into Rob. Bucky thought about texting him to make sure he wouldn’t be in, but in the end, he talked himself out of it to avoid any conflict.

With his sister’s huge suitcase in tow, Bucky prays the entire way there Rob is not home. But as soon as he and Steve get within six feet of the apartment, he knows his prayer has gone unanswered. Someone shouts something about taking down a target behind enemy lines. Steve tilts his head and frowns after the same person orders ‘Morita’ and ‘Dernier’ to hold the line. 

Bucky swallows and gives a nervous smile. “I think they’re cosplaying. The name of their club is the Howling Commandos.”

Steve raises his eyebrows.

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for pretty much anything, Bucky puts the key in the door and opens it. 

The living room looks like a boxing ring. All of the furniture has been pushed back against the walls. There are at least ten guys in here, some of them with fake guns, gathered in some sort of loose formation, like they’re about to storm a bunker. Rob is standing in front of all of them, with his fake Captain America shield on his right arm.

At the sight of Steve, one of the guys drops his gun. The heavy thud of the plastic toy hitting the floor seems loud in the silence. They’re all gawking, mouths frozen open, their eyes ridiculously wide. 

None of them are looking at Bucky, not even Rob. 

Bucky adjusts the suitcase in his hand. “Hey, just came to get the rest of my stuff.”

Rob blinks, his stare still fixated on Steve. “Um...yeah, sure. Sure thing. It’s good to see you, Bucky.” 

Finally he tears his eyes away to give Bucky a really wide grin like he’s actually happy to see him, but it looks a little maniacal. 

“Go on, Buck, I’ll stay out here,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest.

He’s wearing that I'm-Disappointed-In-You expression and all of the guys look like they’re either about to piss in their pants or faint. 

Smirking, Bucky goes back to his old bedroom to begin packing.

Rob has put all of Bucky’s stuff in the back of the closet in a big pile like he’s hiding garbage. Bucky pulls it out and begins to fold it away in the suitcase, keeping his ears peeled for what’s going on in the living room. 

For about a minute there’s absolute silence and then the room explodes with ‘oh my gods’, ‘it’s an honor to meet yous’, and ‘would you mind signing my shirt’. Rob’s voice cuts through all of his friends to ask ‘Captain Rogers’ if he would do him the honor of coming on his podcast for an interview. Bucky pauses, listening for Steve’s response. 

“I don’t go by Captain anymore,” Steve says. “It’s Mr. Rogers, and I don’t think I can come on your show. I heard the interview you did with my granddaughter. I didn’t appreciate the way you spoke to her.”

Rob sputters his apologies. “I’m so sorry, Cap- Mr. Rogers. I’m not usually like that. Actually, I’m normally super polite, right guys? I just really thought she was pulling my leg. I would _never_ disrespect someone close to you like that. You’re my hero. I’ve collected everything related to you.”

“Yeah, I’ve been to your website,” Steve says. “And you have quite a few interviews where you poke fun at people who don’t agree with you. The way you talk to some of your guests is not very nice. Some would call it a form of bullying, something I would never want to be associated with.”

“Oh god, no, I- I really hate bullies. Just like you. When your granddaughter called I actually thought _she_ was the one trying to prank _me_. So I was like trying to out prank the prankster.”

Bucky nearly curses. What a liar.

“Only she wasn’t a prankster,” Steve says.

“Right, she totally wasn’t,” Rob rushes to say. “And now I feel terrible about how that interview went. If you want to come on my show and clear the air, set the record straight, you’re more than welcome. Maybe you could even take over the show for an hour, talk to my listeners about manners and respect.”

“I’m not sure you or your listeners really care about either one of things,” Steve says. “I’ve heard the way you talk about the new Captain America, Sam Wilson. He’s my friend and he's doing a damn good job.”

“Oh! I _love_ Sam Wilson. We all love him, don’t we guys?”

Bucky rolls his eyes as Rob’s friends start gushing about how much they admire the new Captain America and how cool he is. They’re all so full of shit. 

“He’s the best, well not the _best_ , you’re the best, but he’s like really up there. I’m sorry, I think there’s been a terrible misunderstanding. I apologize if you got the impression we weren’t fans, but we’d love to talk to him too.”

“Good, I’ll tell him to get in contact with you for a full interview. There should also be a space for him on your website... without the racism.”

“Oh right, uh, we’ve been having a lot of trouble with trolls on the site. It’s probably Russian bots or something. I’ll make sure to clean it up and I’ll even set up a page for Mr. Wilson.”

“ _Captain_ Wilson,” Steve says sternly.

“Right, Captain Wilson. Of course,” Rob stammers.

Bucky smirks as he goes to check the bathroom to make sure he’s got all of his personal effects. He zips up his suitcase and drags it back out into the living room where Steve is actually signing t-shirts, arms, hands, and the back of someone’s Sweet Yo’s yogurt punch card.

Rob’s still trying to ask Steve questions as he signs, and the other guys talk excitedly around him. When Steve looks up and sees Bucky he hands the pen back to the guy he was signing for.

“You ready?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, Oh!” Bucky puts his suitcase down and goes to the kitchen to retrieve his favorite ‘Bruce Springsteen’s Bathwater’ mug and two bags of tea he knows Rob will never touch.

Steve chuckles when he reads the mug. “Cute. Oh, don’t forget to leave the keys.”

“Right,” Bucky says, pulling the front door, mail key, and building fob key off his chain to place on the kitchen table. 

When Bucky looks back up, Steve dips down and gives him a slow sweet chaste kiss on the lips. 

There are several audible gasps, one ‘oh my god’, and someone starts coughing really hard. Hopefully they aren’t choking or anything.

Steve, being the wonderful asshole he is, takes his time pulling back, and when he does he lifts his hand to Bucky’s cheek, his eyes dancing with mischief. 

“Are sure you got everything?”

Turning his head to look back at the living room, Bucky tries to take a mental photograph of the way Rob and his friends are all watching them, completely flabbergasted.

Karma doesn’t always make an appearance, but today she showed up in six-inch stilettos. 

Bucky grins. “Yep. All set.”

Steve gives him one more swift peck on the lips and turns towards the living room. 

“Gentlemen,” he says with a slight nod before picking up Bucky’s stuffed suitcase like it’s a duffel bag and heading for the door.

Bucky follows closely behind, his eyes focused on Steve’s back.

“Bucky…”

Fuck. Trust Rob to mess up this perfect exit. Bucky stops and slowly turns around. Rob’s mouth is partly open like he wants to say something, but he just stands there, eyes darting between Steve and Bucky like he’s truly stumped. 

Bucky sighs, dreading whatever Rob’s gonna say but ready to close this chapter of his life. 

“Yes?”

“Uh, it was good seeing you,” Rob says, his eyes searching Bucky’s face for something. “Take care of yourself?”

He actually looks sort of pitiful and that doesn’t bring Bucky nearly as much pleasure as he thought it would. 

Bucky gives Rob a sad smile. “I will. You take care of yourself too. Goodbye.”

Stepping out into the hallway where Steve is waiting for him with his suitcase is like stepping onto a new trail, unmarked and unchartered. It’s exciting and a little scary, but Bucky is ready for this new adventure.

“You alright?” Steve asks softly, his eyes concerned.

Bucky nods. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

Over the next month, Rob calls twice.

The first time he calls, he asks if Bucky would like to meet up and have a drink ‘for old time’s sake.’ Bucky declines. Rob asks if Bucky misses him. Bucky tells him that he’s moved on and that Rob should too. When Rob asks if Bucky is still seeing Steve, Bucky says he has to go and that Rob shouldn’t call again.

The second time Rob calls, Bucky doesn’t pick up, and Rob leaves an angry profanity-laced voicemail about how much back rent Bucky owes for dipping out early on the lease, and threatens to sue. He calls Bucky a vindictive brat that's only dating Steve to get back at him and that Steve will soon find out how much of a whiny little snowflake Bucky really is and that he won’t be there to pick up the pieces when Steve comes to his senses and dumps him. 

Even though it depletes all of the money Bucky has been saving, he sends Rob a check for his half of the back rent _plus_ the rest of the lease. 

And he blocks Rob’s number permanently.

Usually Bucky is tired after work, but when he knows Steve is waiting it reenergizes him. For the past month, their dates have been low-key and they always have a tail, either one of the Avengers or one of Tony's robots.

Tony himself never tails, neither does Bruce. Natasha is very stealthy and sometimes Bucky isn’t even sure whether she’s following them or not. Whenever Sam and Clint tail they always find a way to be assholes or disruptive. Like the time Steve and Bucky went out for a late-night movie and Bucky found popcorn stuck in the back of his hair afterward. Sam vehemently denied being the culprit, but Bucky knows he did it. Or the time they went to a sip and paint and Steve nearly choked on his cracker when he noticed his painting had been swapped with one depicting a stick figure drawing of Bucky bending him over. Clint mysteriously disappeared before he could get questioned about that.

Regardless of who the tail is, Bucky and Steve have a system now. Planning a date is similar to mapping out a mission. They plot out spots they want to go, assess the threats and risks, look for places that will give them cover, and plan for what kind of tactical precautions they may have to take just in case they run into a few dumbasses. It’s kind of fun. 

So far most of their dates have been low-key places where there is less of a chance of the press and fanfare. They have been caught a few times though, and predictably each time it made headlines and generated speculation about Steve’s sexuality. 

After the third article, Steve gets fed up and writes an op-ed response to address the rumors.

“Yes I’m Bisexual, Now Tell Me Why You Care” scores _The Washington Post_ the highest hit count in the paper’s online history. 

After that Steve is much less concerned about avoiding headlines and attracting attention. 

“I really hate sneaking around and having a tail. It’s not like it’s working anyway,” he says.

“But what about the security risks?” Bucky asks. “You don’t have a shield anymore, and you refuse to carry.”

Steve huffs. “Buck, ever since I took the serum I’ve been at risk. The only risk I’m worried about is you and my family. I don’t want to put you or them in harm’s way.”

“Well your family is protected, and I can take care of myself,” Bucky assures him. “If you want to do this full throttle, I’m down.”

Giving him a long considering look, Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s hips and pulls him in until they’re nose to nose. “OK. I want to take you to that new exhibition at the Zenith Gallery on Friday. I got a special invitation. The press will be there, and a few dignitaries.”

It feels like a dare, and Bucky can tell from the way Steve is looking down at him that he’s prepared for Bucky to realize how serious this is and to change his mind. But fuck that. Every minute Bucky spends with Steve, every phone and text conversation only reinforces the feeling they are heading towards something really important. Bucky doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, but he’s certain, given more time, he can and will fall in love with this man.

Bucky smiles. “Let’s do it.”

Their first public outing with no tail at the Zenith Gallery exhibition makes front-page news and ramps up a discussion about where Steve’s been, what he’s been doing, who Bucky is, and how they met.

It’s really strange seeing his picture and face in the paper, but Bucky’s grateful he doesn’t look half as bad as he thought he would. Overall it’s kind of cool.

Both Bucky and Becca become proficient at dealing with nosy reporters. It helps that there’s always an Iron Man suit with repulsor rays and lasers on standby near Becca’s apartment. The press quickly learns to stay back at a respectable distance. 

While there is much contemplation about Christine’s story and about who David really is, without confirmation or details about how it could even be possible, it remains just speculation. There are a few fansites dedicated to keeping track of sightings of Christine, Noah, and David, but David proves to be skilled in the art of being elusive, and apparently, he's taught this skill to his children because there are rarely any sightings of them. Still, the speculation and novelty are enough to bring in new clients and revenue for Christine’s art, so she quits her waitressing job at _Vegz_. It also helps that Christine’s ex shows up out of blue to give her the first of many checks for child support. It’s not clear why he suddenly decided to do the right thing but Christine tells Bucky when he handed her the check he was shaking badly. He also apologized for being a useless jerk and promised to send regular payments until Stephanie turns 18. When Bucky asks Steve if he had something to do with this, Steve says maybe and then changes the subject.

Six months later Steve’s graphic novel _Moira_ is a _New York Times_ and Amazon bestseller and now that his relationship with Bucky is public, it’s obvious who ‘Sarah’ is, which may also explain why there’s a sudden interest in a comic that used to be regarded as ‘niche.’

Steve doesn’t mind though, he’s just happy more people are reading his comic, but he still refuses to answer the question about whether he’s Sarah. After several fiery op-eds, he gets an offer to write a regular column at _The Washington Post_ about pretty much anything he wants. He accepts and It quickly becomes the most popular and discussed op-ed column in the country.

Occasionally, Steve will show up to an Avengers battle. But only when it’s absolutely necessary and they need back up. He wears a black eye mask that fools no one and carries a new weapon Tony crafted called a stun disc. Bucky enjoys watching the playback of Steve hurling the discs to stun a target or occasionally blow up some stuff. 

Meanwhile, after several updated drafts, Bucky finally has an agent who is helping him shop his book to publishers. His agent thinks he should plan for a series, so Bucky is in the throes of brainstorming two more books while he continues to tweak the manuscript for the first. 

Bucky has just signed a new lease for an apartment in Springfield, Virginia, just 10 minutes away from Steve who has settled into a townhouse in Old Town Alexandria right near the water. The new place is a lot cheaper than most apartments in DC and it’s close to Bucky’s job, cutting his commute in half. It takes a little longer to get to Becca’s place but both of them like having some place else to go when they want to get out of the house, so Bucky considers that a plus. 

When Bucky finally moves, he gives both his sister and Steve a spare key ‘just in case’ he gets locked out. Steve looks stunned and stares down at the key for a long moment before speaking.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he says, searching Bucky’s eyes.

It’s at that moment Bucky realizes how giving a key to Steve may look and what it may mean. He has a brief internal freak out for being so careless.

“I--” Bucky starts just as Steve says, “You--”

They both chuckle and gesture for the other to go first.

“No please, what were you going to say?” Steve says.

Bucky steels himself and looks Steve in the eye. “I was just gonna say it doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to drop a hint or something.”

Even though he tries to hide it, there’s disappointment in Steve’s face and his shoulders hunch a little. “Yeah, no, I didn’t think that.”

Oh no, Bucky’s getting this all wrong. “Unless… unless you want it to mean something.”

Steve takes a visible breath. “I-- yeah, I do. Bucky, I know you said you don’t want to rush into a relationship, but we also said we would be honest if we felt something was changing. I have to tell you, I don’t want to date anyone else.”

“Me either,” Bucky says, relieved. 

The smile that blooms on Steve’s face could power the whole city. 

“So...it’s official then, we’re exclusive?” he asks with hope in his eyes.

Bucky slides his hands around Steve’s neck and gives him a warm, tender kiss. Pulling back a little, he presses their foreheads together and whispers, “Yeah, you’re my boyfriend.”

A year later, they’re chilling in Bucky’s queen size bed on a Sunday morning. Bucky’s reading Steve’s op-ed on universal health care and Steve’s making notes on Bucky’s second manuscript, the sequel to his very popular novel.

Apparently one of the passages in the new story gets Steve hot and bothered because, within minutes, he’s taken the laptop out of Bucky’s hands and cleared the bed. Steve strips Bucky down and hauls him onto his knees so he can rim him out until he’s crying. Just when Bucky is on the edge, Steve stops and fucks his brains out.

After he’s done, he kisses Bucky’s forehead and leaves him stretched out on the bed with beard burns all over his ass. 

Steve hums his little post-coital ‘I completely wrecked you’ victory tune as he makes his way to the kitchen to make brunch. 

Sunday mornings are the best!

Bucky dozes off until the smell of bacon and pancakes drifts into the bedroom. He hauls himself up to take a quick shower and then puts on some sweats before shuffling into the kitchen. Steve has the whole island set up for brunch. 

“Mmm,” Bucky purrs. “You’re like the best boyfriend ever, you know that?”

Steve smiles bashfully, _still_ , after all this time, and Bucky can feel all of the love he has for this man fighting with his tongue. He hasn’t said the words yet, but every day it’s getting a little harder not to tell Steve he loves him, and he’s pretty sure from the way Steve stares at him the feeling is mutual.

“You want jazz or yacht rock for background music?” Steve asks, fiddling with his phone as he goes to sync it with the soundbar.

“Oh no, I’ve created a monster! You have to try new music, Steve. I know, the yacht rock is my fault, but I’m begging you, please, branch out.”

“Fine, you choose, but none of that EDM junk you and Nat listen to. Something laid back and relaxing please.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky starts searching Spotify for something new and chill. There’s a list of recommendations he might want to check out so he scrolls through them and stops when he sees the Captain American shield with a red prohibition symbol over it. 

Bucky holds up his phone and Steve leans in. “What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know, some new podcast called “Anti-Cap.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Let’s see what it’s about?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah put it on.”

“OK,” Bucky says, syncing the podcast to the soundbar so that it comes out in surround sound.

“And another thing, who says we even need a Captain America? If you think about it, we’re all Captain America. If you’re an American citizen, you have the power to be the captain of your fate. We don’t need some fake socialist SJW telling us how to think. By the way, guess who isn’t a big thinker? Sam Wilson. Wilson is a _follower_ , not a leader. And before you race-baiters start calling and writing about me being a racist, this isn’t about race. Wilson had a chance to be a real role model for his community but he chose to drink the Kool-Aid that Steve Rogers made. Rogers is con, folks! Now I know a lot of you out there disagree with me. My numbers are way down since I changed my stance on him, and I’ve lost a few endorsements, but I don’t care. I will not sit by and act like nothing’s wrong. That long-haired, bearded biker looking guy writing ‘woke’ columns for _The Post_ is not the Steve Rogers that fought the Nazis in WWII. I don’t care if he still fights with the Avengers, Rogers has gone completely rogue, prancing around DC with his little boyfriend, who by the way, writes priest porn!”

Bucky gasps and Steve laughs. 

“It’s not porn!” Bucky protests.

“And to add insult to injury,” Rob continues. “He just shows up to fight whenever he feels like it with that stupid black eye mask and ridiculous ponytail. I mean, he doesn’t even wear red, white, and blue anymore. Does he hate our country that much? Rogers fights in whatever he has on when they call him. Where’s the dignity? The respect? Ladies and gentlemen, this new Steve Rogers is _anti-American_ , and so that’s why this podcast will no longer be called ‘Steve Rogers’ Nation’. Our new name is “The Anti-Cap Nation” and we will always stand up for the truth about what it really means to be an American hero. I hope you stick with me because I have a lot more content coming up to prove how this new Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson pose a threat to America. Next week, I’m gonna talk to a guy who said he saw Steve Rogers flipping someone the bird in traffic. We’ll discuss the psychological damage something like that causes and what message it sends to young people and the rest of the world. Until then, I’m signing off. Take care of yourselves and stay true to the red, white, and blue!”

Bucky tries to suppress his laughter but it’s no use, it spills out, forcing him to put his tea down. Steve shakes his head, smiling but the longer Bucky laughs, the harder it is for Steve to resist. It’s too infectious and soon they’re both doubled over, laughing until their sides hurt and gasping for air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! I'd like to give credit to reader **StarSpangledDick** for suggesting Steve escort Bucky to get his stuff. That was so much fun to write. 
> 
> It's been a real pleasure writing this story and we appreciate all of the love you've shown it. Please check out all of the art & PSAs Gab created for this story in the next part of the series and show her some love for her fantastic work. Thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] Steve Rogers, Uncensored](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636191) by [PottersPink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PottersPink/pseuds/PottersPink), [SoftObsidian74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74)




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